Glass Cannon
by His Excellency TeenageAngst
Summary: Some men are born unto waggle, some achieve waggle, and some have waggle thrust upon them. In the case of young Ignatius Dawnsworn-Abrams it is very much the latter. While searching for his missing father he finds the adventure to be more than he bargained for, with temptations and rewards to match.
1. The Road Less Traveled

By the time I was halfway towards the Sunsail Anchorage the sun was set low in the sky. Its evening tint of gold filled the Eversong Woods, perfectly accenting the fall colors of the trees. A cool wind struck my face, rifling its way through my light summer robes and flicking my cloak behind me. After miles of rather undignified jogging I'd slowed down, holding a stitch in my side as I trundled down the pearlescent road, hoping I could still catch up to the Death Knight. Fyodora had already left, or so her father told me. I got the impression from his disposition that the blame for his daughter's wanderlust rested squarely on my shoulders. Nevertheless he sent me on my way in hopes I might find my father, Jack Radical, in good health.

As I walked along the road I began to reflect upon my decision to pick up this gauntlet of my own casting. Was I being too rash? What was to be gained from openly courting danger, from rushing headlong into the unknown alongside the Death Knight? At best my efforts would make little difference compared to her abilities alone and at worst I would hamstring her endeavor. My anger was, after all, a fleeting thing, but my sense of worried self-preservation was ever present. It was not too late, another rune might still remain in my family's house, hidden somewhere in that upturned mess I called a bedroom. I could return to Theramore and rejoin my studies. The taunts of the students were surely nothing compared to the perils this quest might hold. These thoughts were pushed from my mind as a towering figure appeared on the horizon, moving towards me and eclipsing the warm embrace of the sun. It was Fyodora, there was no doubt, but she was not heading towards the docks. Puzzled, I hurried to meet her.

The Death Knight paused as she caught sight of me, "Greetings, young Ignatius." Her helmet gave her already harsh voice an iron ring, "What are you doing so far from home?"

I found myself unable to respond in the company of such an imposing creature. She was tall for a Blood Elf and coated head to foot in ebon plate. The armor gave her a sense of mass, the gravity of her presence making me feel that much smaller. To make matter worse, her aura of undeath seemed amplified by the enchanted armor just as it was with the runeblade. Her dark and solid helmet concealed her entire face, revealing only two pale-blue eyes and the dark holes within them. Weakly I fumbled for a response but all I could muster was an awkward shrug.

The Death Knight took off her helmet, allowing me to see her face. Her expression was blank and unreadable but it did remove a layer of intimidation. "I fear you had a change of heart regarding your father's disappearance," she said.

"I… did," I said, forcing the words from my lungs. "I wish to join you on your quest."

"It is not my quest to lead, child, nor mine to say your place in it."

She said this flatly, although I surmised she thought it would be prudent I stay in Theramore as I initially planned. Steeling myself I replied, "Then I will accompany you and see my father safely returned."

The Death Knight shook her head, not dismissively but with a sense of foreboding, "I cannot deny you your stake, be it rescue or vengeance, but know that this journey is no trifle. I have already spoken to the dock workers of this port and none have seen a human paladin pass through in months."

I curled my lip in confusion, "I do not understand, then how did father intend to get to Stormwind?"

"South, through the Plaguelands."

There was a tenseness in her voice I hadn't heard before and it clung to my spine like a steel brace. This was entirely unexpected. My head was buzzing as the possibilities began to circle in my thoughts. What on earth would drive father to travel the southern road? Because I did not move or speak the Death Knight seemed to have the impression I was purposely matching her icy countenance. That, or she grew bored of watching me standing there. Either way, Fyodora began travelling south towards the scorched remains of southern Eversong. I was at her heels the entire way although she did not acknowledge my presence.

After quite some time walking in silence I caught the scent of the red dragon's flames on the breeze. It was then Fyodora finally addressed me, "This would be a good time for you to turn back."

"I am not turning back," I said. There was not as much courage in my voice as I would have liked, but my tone did not waver.

"You are young, inexperienced, and this quest has become more dangerous than I anticipated. There is no shame in admitting you do not wish to continue."

As our surroundings darkened with ash my nerves frayed and my entire body shook anxiously, yet I could not understand why. I had no comprehension of the Plaguelands but they were certainly not much worse than the so-called Ghostlands, and those were still claimed as Blood Elf dominion. "Surely it cannot be that dangerous or else father would not have taken the road," I said. "The dread citadel is long gone and father is as skilled a paladin as they come."

Fyodora shifted her armor as we stepped through the charred earth that heralded the Ghostlands, "Even to a seasoned paladin and with the gaze of Naxxramas lifted, the Plaguelands are a dangerous, festering stronghold of the Scourge."

This struck me almost as an insult. Did she seem to think father might have been killed before his journey even began? The man was many things but suicidal was not one of them. He wouldn't have taken such a route if he knew it might claim his life. In spite of my surety in this fact, sweat began to bead around my crown, made all the more noticeable in the rapidly cooling air. If the path was even slightly dangerous for him, it would certainly be suicidal for me.

"Are you saying my father might have been slain by the undead?" I asked. It was not a question so much as an accusation.

The Death Knight's eyes flashed into a withering glare. I could practically feel the blow of her mighty blade upon me simply from the look, but in a moment she let out a heinous guffaw. "Child, I have no doubt the entirety of Stratholme would be cleansed before Jack Radical fell to the Scourge. No, your father's safety was not in question."

Clutching my staff with trembling fingers, I meekly asked, "Then… what?"

Fyodora shouldered her blade as though expecting to use it before long, "The path he chose bodes ill, not because of the danger to himself, but the need to present danger to any who might follow."

This snapped my attention away from our intimidating surroundings long enough to contemplate the ramifications. Father wasn't looking for trouble, just the opposite! He must have known he was being followed even as he left Silvermoon. Worrying as this revelation was, it was also exciting. His kidnapping might have occurred nearby along with evidence of who took him. While still processing this information I asked, "Who could be stalking him? Do you have any idea!?"

"No, but if he chose to travel through the Plaguelands his trail has become that much more difficult to follow, and it is already two months cold."

"Then we need to hurry!"

The Death Knight stopped in the middle of the forest, motionless, staring me down. The sun was completely set at this point and the cool breeze from before had turned to a chilly, constantly blowing wind. My robes were still meant for summer and the air cut right through them. Weak and pallid moonlight flickered off her black armor, revealing only a silver outline. All around us stood the charred and broken spires of wood that once made up southern Eversong.

Fyodora spoke, "Beyond this point there is no way out except through. The Blood Elves of this forest can barely maintain themselves against the Scourge and will not suffer any hangers-on. Are you sure you wish to proceed?"

For all the intimidation of the Ghostlands, none of it seemed as bad as Fyodora herself. The terrors that lay in these forests were nothing compared to her almighty strength and daunting presence. Besides, if I did not continue I would never have another chance. Like she said, there was no way out but through, this was it. Plunge forward or retreat all the way back home, digging around for a means to buy my way back to Theramore and the company of those insolent cretins who shunned me. I shivered with the cold and my own nervous energy but gave a firm nod.

Her expression sullen, Fyodora placed her helmet on and led me down the road south. I could sense her tenor about the quest changed but I did not know why. After all, when she first learned of father's disappearance, she assumed I was searching for him already. Nevertheless she spoke not a word the entire way into town and I dared not break the silence.


	2. Buy the Ticket, Take the Ride

Tranquillien certainly did not live up to its name. The town seemed to be falling apart, alternating between mended buildings of Elven construction and blown-out ruins covered with tarps. Evidence of fine grounds keeping, some time in the past, remained in the dead and twisted ropes of shrubs and decorative trees that sprang from the forks in the road. The sides of the cobbled street were overgrown with a variety of course, foul-smelling ragweed and other undergrowth, the only things hardy enough to grow in such blighted soil.

As Fyodora and I walked toward the center of town we encountered as many Forsaken as Blood Elves. I was not used to the presence of the undead. Familiar company as they were in Silvermoon City, Forsaken were almost unknown in Theramore. Their casual mingling with the elves left pangs of disgust in the back of my mind. In a most uncouth slip of judgment I found myself staring at one who lost a jaw, his tongue wagging in the open air as he tended a blacksmith's furnace. He noticed me and I quickly averted my eyes in shame. Such unnatural creatures, I thought, not at all like Fyodora. I began to ponder just what circumstances allowed her to maintain her lifelike appearance.

The thought of the Death Knight made me realize she'd left my side. In fact, she was nowhere in sight. Blast, I thought, where did she get to? We have only been in town a matter of minutes and already I was separated from the one person who could get me through his hellish landscape alive. Gawking around for my lost companion I suddenly felt… not so much lost as _vulnerable._ I considered what Fyodora had told me just hours prior, how these people would not tolerate anyone who couldn't hold their own in these accursed lands. As I aimlessly meandered the streets, my eyes darting to and fro, I caught more than my fair share of sideways glances and heckles, be they real or products of my paranoid imagination I couldn't be sure. My heart was thumping in my chest with anxiety. Every corner seemed to reveal another grizzled Elven Farstrider or a Forsaken clad in shreds of armor. These were far from the civilized people I was used to dealing with in the city and the guilt of my knee-jerk mental accusations weighed equally with my certainty that I was going to find my undoing at their hands rather shortly.

In a moment of lucidity I realized that wandering around was the worst way to find my companion. Towards the center of the little town was a rather intact two-story building that seemed to be serving as a retreat. Elves and Forsaken gathered around it with their weapons holstered or laid over their backs, unlike those patrolling the streets, who eagerly brandished their arms. I decided I would wait there for Fyodora to come to me, assuming of course she had not simply ditched me. Hurrying inside I found the soldiery resting, drinking by a weak fire, or milling amongst themselves in a corner. Their armor was worn from use and scars riddled the faces of the elves. Although with the Forsaken it was more difficult to tell, I assumed they were just as battle-weary as the Farstriders. A few were missing an ear or a finger, their swords notched; counting off the Scourge they fell. A disquieting sensation welled in me as several heavily-armed men stared with curious amusement, so I took a seat towards the back.

"What is this? A magister's apprentice?" said a terse elf. His companions turned to look at me as he approached, the mug of beer in his hands frothing over. The man looked to be an Outrunner, and judging by his torn ear I'd say one that had been here for quite some time.

"I uh, yes sir," I stuttered.

"Who are you, boy?" He demanded.

"I am Ignatius Dawnsworn, accompanied by Sir Fyodora Rhymewind."

"Oh!" his arms swung back in surprise, spilling the lager on my robes, "You're that Death Knight's squire, eh? Didn't know they took apprentices."

"Not exactly," I replied. "Have you seen her?"

The Outrunner nodded, thumbing towards the upstairs as he took a deep drink. Realizing I was no lone, sorry adventurer, the other elves and Forsaken in his company lost interest and turned back to their meals. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve the man asked, "What the hell are you two doing all the way out here?"

"Looking for my father."

With a smirk he said, "I can count on one hand the number of travelers we get in a month. Tell me what he looks like, maybe I've seen him around."

"He's a paladin, taller than me and much huskier."

Shaking his head, the Outrunner threw his hand up, "A paladin!? Kid, we haven't had a Blood Knight pass through here in ages."

A Forsaken woman in the corner of the retreat stepped forward, her long, stringy hair stuck to her decaying shoulders, "I saw someone nearly two months ago. Smelled human flesh on him but I cannot speak of his profession."

The Outrunner shot her a menacing look, "Mrs. Teasedale, you smell human flesh on everyone!"

Properly creeped out I asked, "You… smelled it on him?"

The old woman nodded, the glow of her eyes fixing mine. "You said you were looking for your father, yes?"

I felt a knot growing in the back of my neck. It appeared this woman caught on that I was a half-breed. These people were certainly a more pragmatic type than those of Silvermoon but that was still information I didn't want circulated. And of course the Forsaken were not exactly friendly towards humans themselves. I saw no maliciousness or accusations in her eyes, perhaps she didn't care, but as I squirmed in my seat, the Outrunner's expression began to shift from dismissive to curious.

"Yes," I replied to the Forsaken woman, "but what uh, makes you think he's human?"

Mrs. Teasedale pointed to her nose, or what was left of it, "I may not be Scourge, boy, but I still know a living human when I smell one!"

"Wait a minute," the Outrunner slurred, "You mean you're a half-breed?" The Outrunner turned to the woman with a wicked smile. "Oh this did just get interesting."

"Ignatius!"

The deep iron bellow rolled across the huddled people of the retreat. Everyone looked up as Fyodora strode down the ramp from the second floor. Without saying another word she grabbed my arm and hauled me through the door outside like a child to be disciplined. The strength of her grip was incredible and I could feel the icy magic flowing through her hands and burrowing in my skin. As we cleared the entrance she nearly threw me into the road, her helmet covering an expression that would have killed me with a glance.

"Do not speak to others of our mission," she said. Her tone was hushed yet stern. "We cannot trust a soul."

"I'm sorry!" I replied hurriedly, "I thought they could help."

The Death Knight considered what to do for a moment and then pointed me along the southern road, "We must move. I attempted to find us shelter for the night but now we cannot remain."

"How come?"

The Death Knight didn't respond right away. Instead she began walking south. I followed closely, and it was only once we were safely out of earshot of what might be considered the townsfolk that she said, "If your father was being pursued it is likely someone in on the conspiracy was left behind, heading off any that come looking."

My face flushed with embarrassment. How could I allow myself such an obvious lapse in tact? I feared I was already interfering with the Death Knight's progress and we'd not been on the trail but one evening together. Humbly I replied, "My apologies, I was not thinking clearly."

Fyodora paused before responding, "We must forego rest. I hope you do not tire easily."

"Not at all, the life of a magister in training is filled with sleepless nights."

"This is no school assignment," she chastised.

We walked on for hours, the waning moon barely visible between the thick overcast clouds. Even though it was still early in the season the unrelenting wind blowing from the west had me trembling with cold. My muscles stiffened and cramped, though this was also due in no small part to me not being used to physical exertion. Walking along this desecrated path, all sense of civilization seemed to fade away, as though these lands were never inhabited. I'd always avoided the Dead Scar of Silvermoon like, well, the plague it was. Aside from some Forsaken and this Death Knight my knowledge of the undead was rather sparse. This was to change tonight.

Eventually the silence between Fyodora and myself became too much to bear. I noticed then that it was not just our silence but the entire woods that seemed eerily calm. There were no chirping insects or rasping frogs, not the slightest hint of life. All that was audible was the crackle of underbrush and the whisper of the wind through the branchless, charred trees.

I looked at the Death Knight warily for a long while before speaking, "How far until we are free of the Plaguelands?"

She stopped mid-stride and turned to me, "The Plaguelands? Young mage, we are not even out of the Ghostlands."

"What!?"

My exclamation was quickly muzzled by an ebon gauntlet as Fyodora wrapped her hand around my mouth. With her head cocked she listened intently. I heard something myself, a shuffling down the road coming through the brush. This quickly turned into the unmistakable gallop of feet on hard-packed earth. Something was coming for us.

Elven eyes are sharper than humans at night but my own were somewhat dulled, be it from my half-breed blood or my long nights reading by candlelight I could not say. Fyodora however seemed to have no problem seeing our aggressors. Before I could spot them she sprung off into the distance, her runeblade glowing in her hand. I tried to keep after her but halted as soon as I heard something growling to my side. Spinning around I caught a rotted zombie, arms outstretched, coming right for me.

Even in this dangerous territory I wasn't mentally prepared for battle, so with little dignity I ran for my life after the Death Knight. I couldn't see her through the darkness, and with the road uneven and myself so rigid from cold and terror, I didn't make it five paces before falling to the ground. My staff clattered onto the half-paved lane as I twisted onto my back. The zombie came closer, its eyeless sockets catching my own glowing emeralds. Without thinking I held my arm out and blurted an incantation. A burst of fire erupted around the Scourge fiend, not enough to kill it but enough to buy me some time.

Still trembling, I tried to concentrate while remembering what I'd learned in Theramore and scrambling to my feet. A mage who cannot defend himself in a duel is no mage at all and for all my hesitation I was well schooled in the art of magical combat. Channeling my mana I unleashed a perfect fireball right at the creature, sending it somersaulting to the ground. As the motionless corpse smoldered with fresh embers I spun around to see two skeletons headed towards me. Adrenaline pumping, I was ready and no longer afraid of such trivial adversaries. As the Scourge closed in I held out my palm, waiting for them, hands trembling as much with anticipation as nerves. When they were mere feet away I unleashed my magic, a cone of freezing wind blasting the monsters.

Slow and frozen, the Scourge could barely pursue me. Leisurely I stepped back and prepared my arcane missiles, taking aim at both creatures. As they gradually came closer I channeled my mana once more, sending the glowing bolts at each of them, pulverizing their foetid bodies. A last moan escaped a skeleton's shattered chest before it hit the ground, the glow in its eye sockets fading. In spite of the dire situation I couldn't help but smile, I had no idea my powers had grown so much! Taking up my staff once again I strutted after the Death Knight.

Down the road I found Fyodora standing over a pile of corpses, or I should say a pile of body parts. Each Scourge had been destroyed so thoroughly that any semblance of their previous form was gone. As she looked up I felt my own accomplishments a bit more trivial. The Death Knight removed her runeblade from a ghoul's head, asking, "Are you injured?"

"No, these Scourge are no threat to a Theramore mage," I replied.

The Death Knight stepped towards me, still holding her sword. "Do not become complacent in these lands. The undead here are merely scavengers."

"Hmph, you underestimate me."

Fyodora shook her head and continued on, sword still firmly in her grip. I had no doubt she would be using it again soon.

The road south contained more Scourge, the severity of their infection growing denser and more difficult the further we got from Blood Elf domain. Fyodora was right, the Scourge to the north were just scavengers, unarmed and mindless abominations rummaging around for scraps left behind by the more powerful undead that lay beyond. Skeletal mages, swordsmen, and even banshees haunted the southernmost parts of the Ghostlands. Worthy as these creatures were for my own abilities, Fyodora made short work of them and anything else we encountered. I counted myself lucky to have her company in spite of her cold demeanor. Even with the strength of the Death Knight at my side though, nothing could have prepared me for the horror of the Plaguelands.

As we marched through tightening ridges and down towards the former city of Stratholme, the scenery quickly changed. The first indication of our arrival was the wind ceasing. In its place was a constant putrid haze, completely still and muggy with an unnatural heat that clung to my skin and clothing. The acrid air stung my eyes and scorched my nose like an acid. If Fyodora noticed it she made no indication. Then again, she was undead herself and had no need for such pedestrian habits as breathing. The charred and branchless trees of the Ghostlands were intimidating but harmless, here though the trees looked more like spires of puss and decay than plant matter. The ground itself stank so much I became fiercely ill. Not five minutes after we cleared the ridgeline I had to stop. Fyodora watched with disappointment as I stood by the side of the road, doubled over and holding my stomach.

"Are you finished?" she snapped.

I gave a couple more dry heaves as the putrid scent washed over me anew, gagging on the pungent, abrasive odor. After a minute I pulled my long, dark hair back, wiped my mouth on my sleeve, and gave a timid nod.

"We cannot stop here. This is Scourge country."

"I… I think I'm okay," I replied. "Let's get out of here."

"This trip is far from over, young one."

Although I still felt the bile creep up my throat from time to time I didn't make her stop again. The trek south made me glad I hadn't eaten all day, as the sights and sounds and smells continued in a never-ending bouquet of disgusting. With every step I solemnly wished I'd stayed in Theramore, nothing I endured there could hold a candle to this. To think that I actually regarded my fellow students' taunts as unbearable, ha! How little I knew! And my sister, her intimidating character was nothing compared to Fyodora. I wondered for a moment, assuming I made it out alive, if I'd regard her the same way after having stood side by side with a Death Knight. I'd set off on this journey to leave my playpen, but now it seemed returning was all I could think of.

Something by the side of the road caught my eye and I screamed like a child, interrupting my train of thought and very nearly sending me running to the Death Knight as though she were my own mother.

"What are you doing!?" Fyodora reprimanded, watching me stumble in fear.

Words escaped me. I pointed at a maggot the size of a small house in the distance, writhing in a gully not twenty paces from the road. As I looked through the pink-tinted fog I saw other shapes just as large squirming further off, the sucking of their mouths just barely audible. Ooze from their writhing bodies caked the ground with a fresh layer of mucus. The smell was fresh and familiar, it was the omnipresent vapor that lifted from the grass and choked me since we arrived. Wiping my hands on my robes I could feel the evaporated slime of the maggots clinging to the fibers. Stunted, dry retching forced its way through my lungs and stomach as I fought back the urge to vomit again.

"Those maggots are the least of your worries," she said dismissively.

"They… I've never…" My jaw was trembling too much for speech and my knees gave out. I crumpled to the ground, at a loss to remember whatever trivial motivation brought me to this wilderness in the first place. All I could think about was getting as far away as possible.

With a firm slap, Fyodora struck me prone, "Keep your wits about you!" she shouted, towering over me. "We are in the grasp of the Scourge, here as surely as Northrend, and I will not attend to you as some wet nurse."

"I'm sorry," I replied hastily, "send me back, I am through with this expedition!"

"There is no sending you back, as much as I may wish it!" Her helmet and dry voice gave every word a grating inflection, "The Scourge dog our every step, the presence of life is as known to them as a scent to a bloodhound. Travelling the road north is suicide."

Terror streaked across my heart, "Why didn't you tell me this!?"

"I told you there was no return," she replied sternly. "I told you of the danger, that the only way out was through. You chose to follow."

Tears streamed down my face as she glared at me, my sputtering trailing off, "I had no idea! Please, I'm not prepared for this kind of…"

For a moment Fyodora just stared at me, considering what to do with the useless mage she was now forced to drag along. Seconds piled on like hours as I sat there on the ground, the sound of the maggots shuffling in the gulch making me tug at my fraying robe in anxiety. At last the Death Knight addressed me, "You are no son of Jack Radical."

"What do you mean?" I said, almost choking.

"You share his blood but that is all. You have neither his courage nor his determination. Furthermore, you accompanied me under false pretenses."

"I came along to find my father!" I replied urgently, willing myself to my feet. If the Scourge were indeed following us it was dangerous to linger, we had to keep moving.

"You came to find him, but to what end?" The Death Knight paced back and forth along the road. "You care not for his safety, nor to seek vengeance for his demise. You are here for yourself. To prove your own mettle or insanity I know not which, but your presence now places all of us in jeopardy."

My staff clattered on the road from the tremors in my hands. I had nothing to respond with, the Death Knight was correct. In the heat of the moment I set myself on this course, and in my heart, my own damnable pride was on the line more than my father's life. Even in guilty admission though I couldn't change how I felt. Father was a distant personality to me. He was a curse I lived with, a shadow I lived under, and an obstacle to be overcome. Even now he served as nothing more than a pretext to accompany this Death Knight on an attempt to best my sister. Unable to answer for myself, I just stood there, waiting to see what the Death Knight would do with me.

After some deliberation, Fyodora continued south without a word. Timidly I followed a while before asking, "What should I do?"

Her reply was as cold as her blood, "I do not care."

I could have turned back. For all I knew, the Scourge were not yet at our heels. Even if they were, if I made it as far as the Ghostlands I might be able to fend them off myself. And yet, against all rational thought, I followed her. At a safe distance of course but followed nonetheless. There was a compulsion inside me to somehow set this right, to see my quest through to the end. Be it in shame for my ineptitude in the eyes of Fyodora or guilt for my cool relationship with my father I wasn't sure, but I figured both would be addressed in equal measure when we found him. Even though she didn't acknowledge me, the Death Knight must have been aware of my presence. Even so, I made no attempt to rejoin her. The further out of her way I was, the better.

Before long the path began to curve west. A dilapidated sign hung by the side of the road that read, "Corin's Crossing". Broken and overgrown houses littered the town, their refuse plunged into the cobbled streets like my own insides by the side of the road not long ago. Fyodora started to tread lightly as did I well behind her. I desperately wished that I too didn't have to breathe, as it felt like the slightest noise was liable to disrupt this uneasy calm. Every so often I caught the clatter of stone or the creaking of a board indicating we were not alone. Each house crept with shadows moving just out sight beyond the doors and windows. As Fyodora reached what looked like the center of town, she stopped.

A squeaking hinge announced the presence of the Scourge; a gibbering ghoul that dashed across the street like a shot from a Dwarven rifle. Without hesitation, Fyodora cleaved it with her sword, striking it down before it could even get close. That set off an orchestra of groans, shrieks, and wails from every building. Banshees, skeletons, zombies, and Scourge of all types began to meander from their hiding places.

Fyodora reached out her hand and cried, "Aranal!"

Dark magic poured out and sunk into the earth. From the tendrils emanating from her hand came a dozen ghouls, their arms grasping from the freshly turned dirt. As soon as they pried themselves free they each latched onto another undead and began disassembling the Scourge creatures in an almost indistinguishable melee. Fyodora herself sliced through a dozen skeletons and zombies before they got within striking distance themselves, her long runeblade more than a match for these fiends.

While the battle raged I stayed out of sight, watching from behind a building and desperately trying keep my presence concealed. These Scourge were nothing like even the harshest undead from the Ghostlands. They were fat and glutted on the rank powers of undeath, their bodies strong from years spent feasting on the plague and each other. In spite of their size and numbers it seemed the Death Knight had no trouble clearing these monsters alone, that is until then I caught something.

Being half human granted me a keen sense of perception even if my night vision was a bit lacking. It was a trait I'd always thought my sister alone inherited, but in this moment it was unfortunately brought to light. Also watching the melee were dark and almost imperceptible spirits. These smoke-like undead gathered their shadow magics, eagerly waiting for a break in the Death Knight's defenses. I looked back at Fyodora as she pulled a skeleton closer with her death grip. She didn't notice them.

As she cut the helpless skeleton down, a Scourge abomination thundered down a side street, groaning and waving its massive cleaver high in the air. Fyodora whirled around, blocking its attack as the butcher's blade struck her own. Momentarily pinned under its great strength, the Death Knight staggered backwards, supporting her runeblade with both hands. The shades' eyes lit up for just an instant as they unleashed their spells.

"Get down!" I shouted. I don't know what madness overtook me but at once I abandoned my hiding spot and ran headlong into the fray. With a flourished sweep of my hand I flung a counterspell at the nearest shade, interrupting its incantation and drawing its attention.

The Death Knight ducked and rolled away from the abomination just as two shadowbolts went flying over her head. More shades glided towards me, my keen eyes barely able to track them. I threw a fireball at the closest, causing it to back away in searing anguish as another two came forth, striking me with their ghostly claws and tearing at my cloak. Instinctively I cried out and an arcane explosion forced them back, the torrent of purple sparks scattering across their almost invisible bodies. Icy fingers tore at my stomach and I responded in kind with my cone of cold.

Desperately trying to gain some distance, I backed away and began to charge a frostbolt for the remaining shades. The spirits tried to conjure their own magic but I was too fast for one of them, hurling the ice spell before it could respond. My spell struck true and the Scourge faded from my sight entirely, whether vanquished or hiding I couldn't tell. The other shade flung its shadowbolt, hitting me right in the chest. I reeled back, struggling to breathe as the shadowy darkness tore at my heart. When I recovered from the shock I found the shade had disappeared, fading back into the shadows. In a panic I tried to make out where it went, only to be tackled to the ground by one of the gibbering ghouls still roaming the street.

Frantically I whollaped my attacker with my staff and scrambled backwards on all fours. The ghoul fell away with a growl but wasn't even fazed, lashing out with its claws against my stomach in retaliation. I shoved it off and tried to stand up but the creature tackled me again, it's snapping jaws oozing with fresh plague. Prone and unable to concentrate I found my magic wouldn't heed me. All I could do was grapple, desperately pushing the creature away as it slashed me with its claws. Its unholy strength was pressing my arms back, every swipe leaving a fresh red streak across my chest or stomach. I cried for help as I feverishly wrestled the monster.

Eventually my flailing legs found their mark. A solid kick to the stomach sent the ghoul flying back onto the street. I reached around, clambering for my staff which had fallen just out of reach. As I crawled towards it I felt the Scourge grab my leg and pull me back. My fingers curled around the aged wood, inching it closer to my hand. Then a sharp pain ran down my calf. I spun around to see the ghoul's fangs deep in my left leg, green drool drenching my skin. With all my might I swung my quarterstaff, caving the monster's head in. Its skull collapsed like pottery and the body ground to a halt. Slowly I pulled its fanged jaw from my leg, the plague still dripping from its crooked teeth. Using my staff to support me I tried to stand but crumbled to the ground after a few steps. The wound went straight into the muscle, my leg was useless.

I heard the clomping sound of Fyodora's heavy boots by my head. Gazing down at me, her sword still bloody from fighting the abomination, she noticed my wound. Before I could say anything she plunged her hand out. Icy tendrils gripped my calf, stronger than any magister's spell I'd ever seen. Yelping in shock and anguish I watched as my leg was encased in ice, frozen completely solid. The Death Knight raised her blade high into the air. I barely had enough time to scream, "DON'T!"

It wasn't a dramatic sound, just a muffled thud as the blade went straight through the remaining muscle and bone. So powerful was her blow and so true her strike that the cut resembled a surgeon's excision more than a battle wound. I didn't even feel it when it happened, the freezing cold of her spell numbing the entire affair. Nevertheless, as the blade was pulled away and the deed revealed, time halted. In that accursed moment I saw the leg, _my leg,_ lying on the paving stones like a choice cut. The ghoul's fang marks were still imprinted in the skin, black lines emanating from where they penetrated my flesh.

Grabbing my arm, Fyodora hoisted me over her shoulder and began running west. In disbelief I watched my disembodied leg resting on the ground until one of the few remaining Scourge took it. The last thing I saw through the haze was a zombie shoving the frozen, discarded meat in its mouth. At that point, my mind torn from the pain and shock, I passed out.


	3. Desolation Row

When I eventually came to I found myself lying on an old bedroll. Gone were the toxic air and spires of pus masquerading as trees. In their place were dying forests, the dank smell of a swamp, and the distant howls of wild creatures. Carts fashioned into barricades stood nearby and heavily armed Forsaken soldiers patrolled in the distance, each hunched over and gazing across the wilderness. A Forsaken doctor kneeled at my side, carefully stitching my stump of a leg shut. It was numb from anesthetic so I couldn't feel the doctor's needle, but every tug of the thread made me think it was attached directly to my stomach. While this was going on, Fyodora was speaking to what looked like a priestess. The undead woman's garments were torn but bright against the otherwise dreary scenery, making a stark contrast against the sullen Death Knight. Noticing I was awake, Fyodora excused herself and came to my side.

She leaned over for a closer look, "How is the wound?"

I did a double-take, surely this monster jested! I was unable to conjure the words necessary to describe the exquisite emotions I felt but the doctor was more than willing to give his two cents.

"Your quick intervention may have prevented the plague from spreading. Only time will tell," he croaked in the guttural tone of his people.

"Quick intervention!?" I shouted. "She cut my damn leg off!"

"And it saved your life."

"IT WAS A FLESH WOUND!" I grabbed the Death Knight by the collar of her armor and dragged her down to meet my gaze, "Has your brain rotted as much as your soul!?"

A strand of pink hair flopped over her ear and across her eyes, other than that she gave me no readable expression.

"One curse is not enough it seems, now I have to live the rest of my life as a half-breed AND an invalid!"

I felt a sharp smack up the back of my head as the doctor glared at me, the needle clenched in his yellow teeth. "You brat, if Rimewind didn't stop the plague from spreading when she did you'd be a shambling corpse right now."

I snarled in incredulity at the smarting pain, "From a simple bite?!"

"There's nothing simple about a bite from a plague ghoul, you imbecile."

The doctor tied the thread and snipped it off with a pair of tiny scissors. I looked at my residual limb; just six inches of flesh below my knee was all that remained. There was no pain but that didn't stop my heart from skipping a beat as I ran my fingers over the fresh stitches.

Fyodora looked at my wound, then back at me, "I did what had to be done. I am only sorry it had to be so drastic."

My anger was building, the pressure in my head frothing into my ears and bleeding into my eyes until I couldn't see straight. Try as I might to respond, all I could manage was a grunt.

"It is not so bad. You will quickly learn to live with it, I am sure."

I roared in visceral fury and tried as hard as I could to shove her away. She was heavy in full armor though and I was lying on my back, so all I managed to do was awkwardly spin myself around. My stump knocked against the ground in the process and sent a jolt of pain into my lower back. Seething with frustration I silently cursed her, slamming my fist into the dirt.

The doctor leaned out of the away, shaking his head in disgust, "If you pull those stitches out I'm not putting them back."

I ignored him, my blazing eyes fixed on the Death Knight, "Live with it?! I ought to take your leg as compensation. Let's see how you _live with it._ "

"Compensation?" she replied.

"I never should have cast aside my common sense to save you from that damned ambush."

Her tone immediately dropped, "You cast your common sense away long before Corin's Crossing, child. I do not require your aid, quite the opposite. Perhaps I should leave you in Tirisfal where you can do no more harm _to yourself._ "

Through the haze of my anger the Death Knight's intimidation seemed shallow, "This only happened because you picked a fight with an entire Scourge stronghold." I leaned over so I could throw my finger in her face, "A stronghold you _waltzed right into!"_

"I did what?" she growled.

"No attempt at subterfuge, no plan, just walk in and start swinging!"

Fyodora's eyes narrowed, "Mind your tongue, mage."

"Or else what, you're going to chop that off too?"

The Death Knight stood up, her hands clenching, "I am finished with this. Return to your tower or Tirisfal or whatever wretched hole birthed you. Perhaps you will realize what it is like without someone to carry you along _._ "

"Yeah? And maybe when the doctor is done with my leg he'll sew your mouth shut."

"Leave me out of this," the doctor proclaimed, inspecting his work again.

The Death Knight stormed off as I lay back in the makeshift bedding with indignation. It looked like we were on the outskirts of the Tirisfal Glades, the gloomy home of the Forsaken people. I recalled my shock at their presence in the Ghostlands. God, that felt so long ago. I'd seen enough undead to last me a lifetime, and between my anger and loss I couldn't think straight. At some point the Forsaken priest approached the two of us as the doctor finished bandaging my stump.

"Careful, he'll take a finger off," the doctor said.

The priest's expression twisted, her eyeless sockets furrowing with her brow, "The boy is in pain and scared out of his wits. I'd like to see how you reacted the day you were turned."

"A far cry more dignified, my dear," he replied.

"Well not all of us are such a gentleman," she said, her raspy voice stained with sarcasm.

The doctor moved out of her way so she could look over his handiwork. It was still a fresh wound and the blood was just starting to seep into the first layer of bandages. "Tsk tsk, I suppose there's only so much we can do out in the field," she said, gingerly running her hand over the gauze.

"What are you doing now?" I demanded, but the priest placed her skeletal hand on my shoulder to calm me down. It was only then that I noticed I was bandaged there too, all down my torso in fact. Just how injured was I?

"Keep calm, dear. I'll try to make this quick." The priest began channeling mana, her healing spell taking an obvious toll on her constitution. As far as I knew, although it healed them, the Forsaken were pained just by invoking the Light. Even though their souls were cleansed their bodies were not, or something like that. It was times like this I regretted not taking mother's advice and attending the priesthood myself.

As the spell washed over me I felt my body knit itself whole in moments. The wounds were closed and fractured bones mended, leaving only bruises and soreness behind. Nothing could bring my leg back though. Relieved of some of the pain and removed from my antagonists, I felt the shock of the event finally give way. Tears welled in my eyes as I sobbed through gritted teeth. I closed my eyes, hoping in that moment it would go away, that somehow this would all rewind back to the afternoon before I started this damn quest. I felt the priest's hand on my shoulder again and tried to calm myself down enough to speak.

"It's alright, Ignatius was it?" she said.

"Yes…" I said, opening my eyes and staring into the middle distance. "I don't understand… why she had to cut it off…"

"The plague spreads quickly," the priest replied. "It took a long time for Rimewind to reach us here in the Bulwark and she had to carry you the whole way."

She was correct, the morning sun was on the horizon already. Who knows how long I was out? I thought of Fyodora carrying me through those wretched wastelands and bringing me here, the Scourge at her heels the entire way. Guilt sank into my conscience, my comments to her were out of line. Furthermore I should have never darkened this enterprise with my presence to begin with. The priest held my hand, staring at me expectantly.

"Fyodora, my sister, even my own mother," I said absently. "They all warned me to stay in Theramore. I thought I could be an adventurer too, that all I had to do was prove myself." My head bowed under the weight of my own admission, "All I proved was how right they were."

The priest's empty eyes looked right through me, "You have a darkness inside you, child."

When she spoke it was like a spotlight from her mind was cast on my emotions. My gut felt bitter and the resentfulness of my own shortcomings began pooling inside me like melting lead. Glancing in her direction I quickly turned away, afraid of what she might see.

"I can feel it, you know. We Forsaken are as attuned to the Shadow as we are the Light."

A lump grew in the back of my throat, "Wait, are you saying I'm still stricken with the plague!?"

She smiled, "Well, we'll have to wait and find out, but I don't think so."

"Oh," I said. "Then what?"

She ran a bony finger from my neck, down my chest, to my heart. "You're angry about what you are, or perhaps what you have become. I have seen this many times in the other Forsaken, usually just after they turn."

This wasn't news to me. Anyone who knew I was a half-breed also knew I wasn't in any way pleased about my condition. With an indignant shrug I replied, "I'm sure you have."

"It can be dangerous to let these feelings go unaddressed. You don't have the protection of the Light on your side, remember."

"Oh really?" I said, "And just how should I 'address' them?"

"Only you can answer that."

"Very helpful."

"But might I make a suggestion?" she said, her expression stiffening. "Don't drive away people willing to help you because of your own insecurity. Your situation may not be ideal but it is far better than it could have been. Besides, in a manner of speaking, Rimewind did repay your favor."

My stare hardened as I slowly turned to face her, the last of my pride fighting back, but I knew she was right. After a moment my eyes fell to the dusty ground, "I apologize."

She gently patted my thigh, a thin smile crawling up her leathery face, "Rest up, child. Your adventure is through now."

"No," I said. "No, I still need to find my father."

Overhearing my words, Fyodora shook her head, shouldered her blade, and began walking south. I immediately shouted after her and she turned on her heels with agitation, "You are not fit to travel, I will continue this search alone."

"I cannot give up now, not when I've come so far already," I said, sitting more upright. The priest pressed me back but I brushed her hand away.

The Death Knight put her helmet back on, "Your spilled blood will not buy you an easier path. Regardless, we are through the Plaguelands. You will be safe in Tirisfal and I _suggest_ you stay there while I finish my quest."

"Your quest?" I grabbed my staff and struggled to pull myself to my feet… or, foot. "You said it yourself; this is my quest to lead."

There was no response but the grip on her sword tightened.

"You were right, I admit it. I wasn't prepared for the trials of the Plaguelands." I shifted on my staff-crutch as I tried to balance myself, "I didn't understand the danger of this land and I was a fool for trying to follow so brazenly. I'm sorry."

"Your apology is duly noted, and if the road south were clear I might have you along," she replied. "However it is still treacherous and you are now severely handicapped."

"Severely _what!?_ "

Fyodora watched as I struggled to move towards her, hobbling precariously between my quarterstaff and my good leg. Listening to our conversation, the doctor groaned and broke off what he was doing with one of the Bulwark guards stationed behind us. I heard him shuffling in one of the wagons but paid him little attention. Fyodora stared at me with that same dead-eye look she always had and for once I wasn't disturbed. I met her gaze, determination bracing me as much as my staff.

"You have the audacity to condemn me for trying to prove my worth, and then in the same breath you slander my abilities."

The Death Knight raised her hand, "I meant no offense."

I stood as straight as I could. My arm was weak from hunger and exhaustion and shook under my full weight as I held myself up. "I am a mage of Theramore. My talents will not be discounted by a mere flesh wound." I flicked what was left of my dangling limb to emphasize my point. "If you will not take me with you then I shall find my father on my own, even if it means crawling to Southshore."

The Death Knight regarded me for a moment. I couldn't tell if it was my lack of sleep or the trauma of the night's events but I didn't feel intimidated by her anymore. Maybe it was because I'd already felt her blade once. Regardless, after some consideration she replied, "How do you intend to travel in this condition?"

"Hold on," the doctor griped, pulling things to and fro from the wagon.

In a minute he approached me with some leather straps, a couple pieces of wrought iron, and what looked like a table leg. He held it up to me, looked at my residual limb sternly, then took a quick measurement. It appeared this was to be my new prosthesis. I watched as he lopped off a section of the polished wood and considered what I would look like hobbling around on a piece of furniture. The doctor nailed the metal into it as a brace and began affixing the makeshift peg leg to my own.

"Is that going to hold my weight?" I asked as he secured the straps.

"Well we don't have a whole lot of options out here," was his terse response. "It's not going to be a permanent fixture but it should get you down the road at least."

When the last piece of leather was cinched I shook my wooden appendage. It seemed sturdy enough; the thick gauze and bandages wrapped around my freshly healed stump helped to cushion it. Most of the pressure was absorbed by my thigh, the strips of leather and old iron bracing the wood to my upper leg. Unfortunately this deprived me of the use of my knee but it was better than nothing. I tried taking a few tottering steps. The occasional stab of pain shot into my back but the leg itself felt planted. The doctor shook his head as I limped along, using my staff for support.

"You're going to have fun with that in Andorhal," he said.

I turned around, leaning awkwardly on my good leg, "I thank you for your work, doctor. And I'm um, sorry about my language earlier."

"We'll see if you're thanking me after an hour walking on that thing," he replied. "You're going to be so sore you'll beg Rimewind to take the rest of the leg off."

"Are you sure you are fit to travel?" the Death Knight asked.

"As fit as I'll ever be."

Tenuously I hobbled down the road, the Death Knight watching me for a bit before following. I suppose she wanted to see if I was actually able to move using the prosthetic, or maybe she was waiting to see if I was serious. Either way, the two of us trekked south, this time with me leading and her following a comfortable distance behind. The going was slow at first but my stave made learning to use the new leg quite a bit easier. Before long I had a steady gait going, although I preferred to walk in the grass rather than the road. The cobblestones were miserable and I kept losing my footing. In spite of my awkward pace and frequent stumbles we found ourselves nearing the city before the sun was even fully in the sky.

"Andorhal," Fyodora said behind me. "I cannot believe Jack actually passed through here."

"Are you sure he did?" I replied. "Maybe he went west through the Forsaken's land."

The Death Knight gave a metallic chuckle, "And miss a chance to fight the Scourge? Doubtful. Besides, your father was no friend of Lordaeron."

I nodded, being well aware of both his tendencies and reputation. Still, it was worth a try. From what I'd heard, Andorhal used to be a large human city many years ago. Now that it was considered part of the Plaguelands, and being located so close to the dreaded School of Necromancy, I could only imagine how thick the Scourge presence was. Clutching my staff for support I tottered beside the road, looking for any sign of undead. It didn't take long for us to find them. Scourge patrols roamed freely out in the open. These weren't just random undead either, they looked regimented and controlled, like a regular army.

"Is this… a border guard?" I asked as Fyodora came up behind me. A platoon of undead marching five abreast skirted the road outside the city gates.

"It seems so, these Scourge are likely mobilized in force against the Forsaken." Without another word she raised her blade and began to march towards them, just like at Corin's Crossing.

I caught her arm, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Your father went through Andorhal, I must follow."

"This is the exact same thing that happened last time," I replied. "I can't lose another leg. We're going to do this slow and quiet."

Fyodora looked at my prosthetic for a second, "Well, slowly at any rate." She removed her arm from my grasp and motioned for me to follow.

Lowering herself down by a row of buildings, Fyodora crept along a roadside drainage gutter. With a hard swallow I snuck along after her, using my good leg almost exclusively to keep my footing in the damp culvert. It wasn't long before we reached the first street corner. Security was comparatively sparse this far out, a mere pair of skeletal warriors was left to guard the entire lane as the regular patrols marched by. We slipped by the guard without a hitch by crawling under the road, the culvert becoming so low in places that it forced my face into the brackish runoff.

At the second crossing we had no choice but to fight. Several zombies guarded the street and the ditch turned sharply away, forcing us to cross in the open. With lethal precision the Death Knight waited until the guards wandered a little too close, then leapt from the culvert with supernatural agility. Her flying strike cleaved the first zombie in two. Its partner could barely turn its head before she whirled the runeblade around, striking it at the waist and burrowing her blade up inside its chest. Two more charged her from the other side of the road, their bloated limbs flailing to and fro just like the Scourge of the Eastern Plaguelands. I began hurrying out of the ditch to assist, but in one deft bloodstrike the Death Knight cut them down like saplings, their diseased fluids running into the gutter she'd just crawled out of. The entire thing was clean and almost noiseless, save for some undignified splashing while I heaved my wooden leg over the ledge of the culvert.

With our foes dispatched the Death Knight watched me clamber to my feet. We were at the interior of the city now, with high and tight-knit buildings on all sides pressing in on narrow roads. The alleyways it seemed would serve as a safe means of travel. Although they were occasionally guarded there was far less open space, allowing us to zig-zag across the city faster than if we'd plowed straight through. We dashed between buildings, Fyodora cutting the heads off any Scourge that stood in our path. I could tell with every encounter that she was growing more anxious to fight, but in a city of this size with this many Scourge I could only imagine what would happen if she went off her metaphorical leash.

When we emerged on an avenue skirting the center of town, both of us froze as an ear-piercing scream filled the air. Fyodora hurried to the low wall of a destroyed house nearby, allowing her to peek into the courtyard beyond. I was having a hard time with the paving stones but managed to catch up. The Death Knight gave no indication of noticing my approach. She'd removed her helmet to get a better look, her attention entirely fixed on the spectacle in the city square. A ghostly, skeletal figure loomed over a smoking cauldron, chanting an incantation in a language I did not recognize. I watched almost as if I was in a trance as the cauldron pumped the surrounding air full of whatever pestilence grew within it. The smell was saccharine and moist, similar to the Eastern Plaguelands but less pervasive. Beside this Scourge, shackled to a metal post, was what appeared to be a Draenei paladin.

"What is this?" I asked, mystified.

"Araj the Summoner," Fyodora replied. "He is a lich, though when I knew him he was headmaster of the Scholomance. His presence here is curious."

I gave her a bizarre look then turned back to the scene before us. Terror stained the Draenei's face as the cauldron was brought to a rolling boil, the plumes of smoke wafting over her face. Anxiously I whispered, "What is he doing with that paladin?"

Fyodora was silent for a minute, drumming her fingers on the edge of the wall, "He is attempting to corrupt her with the plague."

The lich's cauldron burbled and shook like an unstable alchemy flask, his magic the only thing holding its infectious contents in check. "But… the plague can't corrupt paladins, can it?"

"Araj is a clever alchemist," she said wistfully. "Regardless, that is not our concern right now. We must devise a plan to get past."

"What?" Ducking behind the wall I turned myself around, leaning against the cold brick to face the Death Knight. "You're just going to let that Draenei die?"

"Her fate is her own. I am sworn to Jack Radical and his cause, none other." The Death Knight pointed towards the empty southern road that lay just beyond, "Besides, the Summoner's display appears to be a fitting distraction."

I looked out over the courtyard again. The fumes choked the paladin where she stood to the amusement of all the intelligent Scourge present. Even the mindless ghouls nodded and shook their bulging limbs, appreciative of the agony the lich inflicted. It was indeed a… fitting distraction. We could run around the outskirts of the courtyard, make our way south, and be gone by the time the Scourge finished with their captive. As I thought through our escape I felt my hands ball into fists. The paladin hacked up some black ichor and fell over, her breathing labored.

"We have to help her," I said, clutching my staff.

The Death Knight paused. Not like her usual pause, where she considered how much artificial humanity was necessary to respond, but a knee-jerk hesitation brought on by some anxiety, or dare I even say, fear. Without looking me in the eye she replied, "I cannot defeat Araj."

I let out a smug grunt, "What? And here I thought you were invincible. Can't the mighty Fyodora just stroll into any Scourge formation unassisted?"

She snapped her head around, glaring at me with those two burning sapphires she called eyes, "Firstly, you shall address me as Rimewind, young mage. You have worn out all familiarity."

I nodded, my heart skipping a beat.

"Second, these Scourge are numerous, fattened, and entrenched. Fighting them would put our mission and your life at risk even more than Corin's Crossing."

Every fiber of my being was crying for me to just sit there and shut up. I held my breath in anticipation, guarding the air in my lungs like the gates of hell. I couldn't fight all those Scourge and especially not a lich. To do so would be suicide, and for what, some stray paladin I didn't know? Who was she to me anyway? At least my father was blood and I already regretting taking this path for his sake. As I watched the paladin's face grow pale a chill came over me like a blanket. I'd set out on this journey to prove myself. If I didn't intervene now, well, there would be no question what kind of mage I was. Prying my lips open, I mouthed a response before finally finding the words to fill it, "If you won't help her, then I refuse to carry on."

Rimewind didn't say anything, her countenance tight, waiting for me to explain my insubordination.

I looked back over the wall at the terrific display below, "As far as I'm concerned, this is my father's cause. I cannot leave this paladin to die while I go searching for him. How could I look him in the eyes with her blood on my hands?" I stood up, careful to stay concealed behind the crumbling wall, "We have to try."

Still glaring at me, the Death Knight's lips widened into a sickly grin, "You are Jack Radical's child after all."

Her words didn't even register. A nervous energy wracked my body, my breaths shuddering as I realized what I'd just committed myself to. "Do you have a plan?"

"Your rescue, your plan," she replied.

I peeked around the wall just in time to see the paladin's body go limp. If we were going to get her out alive we didn't have time to talk about it. My eyes scanned the rest of the courtyard. All around the scene, skeletal warriors and rabid zombies roamed the open town center and patrolled the buildings as though claiming the land through sheer saturation of numbers. The road was still clear though. A captured paladin was quite an event it seemed.

"Well?" she asked.

I turned around, the tremor in my voice betraying me, "You run in and create a distraction while I follow behind. Break the paladin free and get her out of harm's way. When you make your move… I'll handle the lich."

Rimewind raised an eyebrow at this, "Are you sure?"

I nodded, not looking her in the face lest she see my uncertainty. "I have a few tricks up my sleeve."

"A plan worthy of a Radical," she said, placing her helmet on.

"Yeah… we'll see," I muttered to myself.

Yearning to slay more Scourge, Rimewind leapt the wall and charged across the courtyard, cleaving her way through every undead creature that happened to be within swinging distance. Her attack was so sudden it took a moment for the lich to realize what was going on. Most of the Scourge were too distracted to notice and she'd easily slain a dozen by the time I awkwardly surmounted the same wall. As the Death Knight worked her way towards the captive, Araj reared back in surprise.

"Rimewind! It has been quite some time!" His grating voice floated around my ears. I could sense the power of undeath emanating from his being as I hobbled closer, unnoticed in the wake of the mighty Death Knight. "What brings you to my humble dwelling?"

"Araj, why are you not in Scholomance?" Rimewind said, prying her blade from a skeleton's ribcage as a dozen more circled her just out of striking range.

"The Lich King was quite pleased with my progress before his untimely demise. Since then I have made some… acquisitions." Araj floated down towards the Death Knight, his vaporous form melding in with the cauldron smoke.

Rimewind swung her blade, striking a skeletal mage in mid-conjuration with a death coil. The mage shattered into bone fragments as the other soldiers began to close ranks. Ice magic swirled in the lich's grasp but Rimewind lashed out with a spell of her own, halting his sorcery. The permanent, cruel smile on Araj's face widened, "Oh Rimewind, you know how much I used to adore your Order."

The Death Knight cut down a zombie as two more leaped forward. Jumping out of the way, she landed on one foot and spun around, hacking a warrior behind her in two. Araj's eyes lit with an off-color gold as ribbons of shadow swirled from his hands, tying themselves around the Death Knight. Rimewind fell to her knees, struggling against the lich with her own runic power.

With a groan she pried herself free of his magic, her sword slicing through the tendril that connected them. "You are a far sight weaker than I remember, Araj. Your time with the younglings has softened you."

The lich laughed or shrieked, it was difficult to tell, "You are one to talk! Your traitorous legion is but a shadow of its former glory." He glided effortlessly towards her, circling Rimewind and the unconscious Draenei at her feet. "So much so in fact, I may even be moved to mercy." He whispered to all present, the words slipping in my ears like a silken finger, "I have always wanted a Death Knight among my retinue."

In one stroke of her mighty blade, Rimewind threw a death coil at the lich and severed the chains on the paladin's body. Araj dismissed her magic with a wave of his hand but it gave her a chance to grab his captive. Scourge minions clamored towards her almost immediately and she raised her runeblade high in the air.

"Aranal!" she called. Just like before, a dozen zombies came forth, ripping shutters from windows and breaking down doors to fight for their new master. Undead butchered undead while Rimewind charged through the confusion, the Draenei slung over her shoulder like an armored sack of potatoes. I watched as she frantically swung her blade, cutting down what Scourge she could while plowing headlong through the rest. In seconds I lost her through the crowd of skeletons now swarming the courtyard, their groans and gibbering rising like thunder off the walls of the city. The lich began to channel his shadow magic, his foul burning eyes fixed on the Death Knight's progress through the mob. This was my chance.

With a flick of my wrist I unleashed a counterspell. The lich was so taken aback he nearly stumbled in midair, looking to see who could be so bold and so foolish. Propped up on my staff and with my table leg slightly offset by the constant crawling and running I didn't present the most imposing adversary. Nevertheless I stood my ground. All I had to do was hold out until Rimewind found a break in the enemy.

"A child?" the lich mused, wafting down to my level. With the grace of an autumn breeze he floated by, slicing my stomach open anew with finger bones sharpened into knives. I tried to strike him with my staff but missed, the wooden end clunking off the paving stones. Araj channeled the shadows and raked me with his claws once more. With closed fists I endured the blow, waiting for his spell to complete.

Both hands shot open as I unleashed my mana, feeling myself split into pieces. The lich's shadowbolt went right through my hollow copy, the image of me going up in a cloud of smoke. Two more imitations were to his right while I stood behind him. All of us, or should I say all of me, conjured frostbolt spells and pelted him rapid-fire. The lich reeled back, striking out at the two figments on his right. My trick already failing I spared a glance towards Rimewind. The trail of bodies indicated she was at the far end of the courtyard now but I could still see the huddled mass of undead weighing her down.

I had only one idea left, one that might claim the lich, myself, even half the city. Throwing up my mana shield I began to conjure a pyroblast, edging further and further away from Araj as I did. The lich struck me with his ghostly knife-fingers, my purple barrier crackling with every blow. His power was so strong that in just a few quick strikes my shield nearly collapsed. I could feel the mana drain from my body like a sieve as I concentrated on my spell. Flames built between my hands until white heat radiated off the adjacent walls. As I finished my incantation, the lich wound up for a coup-de-grace. His claw seemed to dance across the air as it flew towards my heart and I slammed my eyes shut.

Opening them once more I found Araj stabbing at thin air. I was standing clear across the courtyard next to Rimewind, a pile of Scourge at her feet and many more groaning to her side. The lich launched himself towards us as I unleashed my spell. A colossal ball of fire lurched from my hands and sailed over the closing Scourge warriors. It passed Araj, who hardly even noticed it, and landed directly on his plague cauldron. The explosion wasn't nearly powerful enough to destroy the cloying amalgam held within but it broke his magical constraints, causing the bubbling mass to overflow. Black smoke saturated the air as murky pops and bangs echoed all around. I pressed Rimewind against a wall by the side of the road, sandwiching her between my body and the aging brick. With the last of my mana I enveloped myself in ice, shielding the three of us from the ensuing carnage.

A burst of flame erupted from the cauldron, barely visible through the choking fumes. Araj began to chant a spell but it was too late to stop the unstable reaction. The plague exploded from its container, showering the Scourge around us with the contagion. Zombies and skeletons appeared to liquefy, their bodies turning into jelly and their bones to darkened stumps. My icy barrier melted in places but held firm enough to shield us from the caustic sludge. I could feel my concentration waning as my mana ran out, the frost sinking into my body with every passing second.

When the deluge ceased, Rimewind nodded to me and I relinquished my spell. We bolted south as fast as we could, the smoke covering our exit. My eyes immediately burned with the foetid gas and even while holding my breath I could feel it sting my nostrils. I clutched my staff for dear life as we ran flat out, galloping along on my wooden leg as fast as it would take me. When the vile smoke was no longer surrounding us I released my lungs, gasping for precious clean air. Rimewind looked over her shoulder, the paladin was beginning to move.

"Which way do we go?" I asked, sneezing out an oily black residue. We'd been running so hard to get away from the plague that I'd lost my sense of direction.

Rimewind led me towards an intersection. From the left came an entire platoon of skeletal warriors and mages charging headlong to their master's aid. From the right, zombies and plague ghouls ran towards the commotion with and a pair of abominations in tow, blocking the lane. I glanced warily at the Death Knight; my magic was completely spent. She didn't look much better either, her armor was worn from combat and her posture seemed fatigued, if such a thing was even possible for a Death Knight.

The paladin she carried started coming to and spotted the advancing Scourge formation behind the Death Knight. With a feeble yelp the Draenei pointed and began squirming to get down. Rimewind held her firmly with one arm and grabbed me with the other, throwing me over her shoulder like a handbag. I nearly dropped my staff as she hauled us across the street, Scourge closing in from either side in waves of frantic undead bodies. With a running leap she vaulted into a culvert much like the one we'd used to infiltrate Andorhal. This one however was blocked with a storm gate, its rusted steel bars jagged and loose from years of decay. Rimewind kicked one out and it clattered against the cement, rolling forward into a sewer hole.

I yelled out, "You're not going down there are you!?"

There was no reply save the gut-wrenching fall as she pressed between the bars and carried us down the yawning sewer. It was about a fifteen foot drop and when we struck bottom Rimewind lost her grip. The channel was heavily slanted, sending all of us rolling down in ankle-deep water until we smacked up against another storm gate that led into the river. I pushed the half-conscious Draenei off me as the sound of more splashing reverberated throughout the cement shaft. Several of the Scourge had followed us in.

"We're trapped!" I shouted, trying to right myself.

"No we are not," said Rimewind, slamming her blade against the lock.

The metal gate opened on a hinge and I tumbled out, the paladin right behind me. I landed on my back and she forced me underwater, her body weighed down by the chainmail, pinning me to the riverbed. There was the sound of metal clanging and the muffled growl of zombies as I kicked and flailed in the muddy water. When the Draenei was lifted off I pulled myself up for air, realizing suddenly that I was missing something. The zombies clawed the air mercilessly as they pressed against the storm gate. My wooden leg was jammed in the latch, sealing them inside. Broken leather straps floated lazily with the current having torn off in the escape.

Rimewind grabbed me under the arm and hoisted me up. She was standing on what appeared to be two thin wafers of frost emanating from the tips of her boots with the paladin slung over her shoulder once more. Unable to walk myself, I was carried in a similar fashion. With every step she took more frost appeared, fading behind her as quickly as it came. The whole way we passengers bobbed up and down helplessly. The Draenei looked like she was unconscious again and I wasn't doing well myself. My wounds burned where the lich had torn me open and I could feel blood seeping onto the Death Knight's pauldrons.

When at last we came ashore Rimewind laid both of us down against a tree. The ground was muddy and filthy and covered in all kinds of vile moss but I didn't care. I looked over at the paladin, her head lolling to the side. Every inch of her was coated in filth and grime but she was alive. We all were. I grinned, beaming up at the midday sun overhead. My smile turned into a chuckle, and my chuckle into full hysterics as I rolled over on my side.

"What is so amusing?" Rimewind asked, securing her armor.

"We did it!" I cried, grabbing the paladin by the shoulders and giving her a good shake. "We survived!"

The Draenei's eyes opened as she coughed up some river water. Panting and choking, she slowly looked up towards Rimewind. The Death Knight stared back at her nonchalantly. The gore of the undead which caked her already grisly armor slowly dripped into the river. Eyes wide with fright she turned to me, the bloodied, filthy, and jubilant elf shaking her senseless. I don't know what went through her mind as she awoke to that horrific scene, nor do I know precisely what she did after, because the next thing I saw was a chain-covered fist cracking me in the eye.


	4. Hopeful Answers and Mercy Dispensers

I awoke to a face full of pungent mud, sprawled out on the ground as the noise of clinking chainmail and whistling swordplay reverberated off the trees. As I gradually pulled myself upright the battle ceased. Rimewind held the paladin in an arm lock, her sword pressed against the Draenei's neck. The Death Knight was tall for an elf but her captive was easily a foot taller if not more. Even so, the Draenei was powerless to escape her firm grip. I watched as she kicked and struggled until her hooves lost their footing in the slick mud, landing her flat on her backside.

"Cursed monsters!" she snarled in frustration. "What do you intend to do with me?"

I fumbled through the ooze for my staff, unable to see properly as my right eye progressively swelled shut.

She wriggled back and forth in the Death Knight's grasp, "If I had my hammer I would smite you where you stand!"

Rimewind tightened her hold and the paladin winced. "It is a good thing you do not have you hammer then," she said. Her tinny voice was sarcastic, although whether the Draenei picked up on that was anyone's guess.

Eventually my searching fingers came upon my staff, its wood entirely coated in goo. Try as I might to scrape it off it had sunk into every furrow and crevice, making it too slippery to be of any assistance. I absently caressed the various wounds Araj inflicted on my body. Those on my chest were covered in mud but those on my arm and shoulders were still freely bleeding. I was losing a lot of blood and couldn't think clearly, my mind rapidly going back and forth between events as if trying to shuffle them into the proper order.

"When the Argent Dawn hears of this you will be hunted like rabid dogs!" the Draenei screamed.

Cinching my hands up on the staff I decided to give standing a go anyway, slippery mud be damned. I couldn't feel my stump of a leg anymore which, although I wasn't in pain, I knew in the back of my mind was probably a bad thing. My blood loss and hunger and mana withdrawal were making me lightheaded and on top of everything else I'd lost my temporary prosthetic. Where was I going to find another table leg in the middle of the Western Plaguelands? Regardless, I gave one good heave on my staff and felt my hands slip, the slick wood gently lowering me back down. I stayed there, leaning over on my staff and clutching it for dear life, my body inches from the mud. Gradually I looked over at the paladin.

She curled her lips in confusion and defiance, "Are you listening to me, heathen!?"

My vision started to fade. First my right eye went entirely black from the swelling, then my left started to lose color. The Draenei was enveloped in a fuzzy static until all that remained was a grey impression. I tried to swallow but found my mouth too dry. My fear of dying back in the Eastern Plaguelands seemed so distant now, weirdly out of context. In that moment all I could feel was a bit nauseous and a growing anger that if these wounds were to be my undoing, I wished they would hurry up and get it over with. I was almost offended that I was denied any kind of a climactic release, that my end would come through what could only be described as annoying discomfort.

The Draenei gave another solid tug at the Death Knight restraining her, "Say something!"

I scowled at the dim grey blob in my vision and spoke in a commanding tone, "You're welcome." Then my arms gave out, landing me head first in the muck.

Rimewind immediately let the paladin go and charged to my side. Pulling me out of the dirt she said in a monotone, "My companion needs healing."

The Draenei snorted in disgust.

"I implore you, paladin, please help him."

"You implore me?" she scoffed. "What do I owe my captors?"

As Rimewind looked back at her the air seemed to cool around us, "We are not your captors and these wounds were acquired during your rescue. You owe this mage your life."

I watched the darkened blob of a Death Knight argue with her. A weak cough was all I could muster as what pain remained started to subside. It was a frightening but altogether not horrible feeling. After all the trauma my body had gone through, the numbing sensation as my nerves shut down wasn't all that bad. Then in a single moment it all came rushing back. I was torn back to reality as the pain surged through my body anew, my wounds closed just enough to stop the blood loss and my limbs screaming in refreshed agony. The paladin finally gave in.

As I rolled over on my side I realized I could open my right eye, even though it hurt to do so. Rimewind sat me up and my vision slowly restored, bringing into focus the face of a rather disturbed Draenei.

"Thanks," I said in a throaty voice.

"I do not know who you are or what you have come for," she said earnestly. "You fight the Scourge yet keep the company of a Death Knight. Explain yourself."

Reaching into my hair I pulled out a thick clump of mud, unsure just how to answer such an enormous question. I started to take a deep breath but winced as a pain shot through my chest. "I am Ignatius Dawnsworn-Abrams, mage of Theramore," I said meticulously, "and I am here in search of my father."

"You are searching for your father…" she repeated. "In the middle of Andorhal?"

In spite of Rimewind's prior warning in the Ghostlands I decided to indulge the paladin with the true nature of my quest, "He is a paladin and I have it on authority he took this road some two months ago."

The Draenei's face scrunched in offense, "I've seen everyone who has passed through these parts in that time and none of them were Blood Elfs."

"That is good," Rimewind spoke up. "Because his father is human."

This reminded me to tell Rimewind about my sensitivity regarding my bloodline, assuming of course I survived the rest of our excursion. In this particular moment though it seemed like necessary information so I let it slide.

"Human? But that makes you a…" The Draenei gave me a long, hard stare, "Who is your father?"

"Sir Jack Abrams of the Knights of the Silver Hand," I said, "but he refers to himself as Jack Radical."

The paladin's jaw nearly hit the ground as her eyes ping-ponged between the Death Knight and me. My eyes narrowed as I waited to see where this was going. Obviously she knew of my father, but whether as a former comrade or "conquest" I was unsure. At last she blurted out, "You're Iggy!"

"What?"

"I knew your father when I was little!" The Draenei raised a hand to her forehead in disbelief. "Then he stayed at our camp a couple months ago. By the Light was I happy to see him again!"

"You saw him!?" I asked, scrambling to my knees, "You mean he's okay!?"

The Draenei smirked, "Better than okay, he's the one of the finest paladins I've ever seen fight! He helped us reclaim the cemetery near the tomb of Sir Uther the Lightbringer."

"Wait… who's us?"

The Draenei pointed to herself but then looked down with disappointment; only shreds of her tabard remained tucked in her belt. "Oh, my name is Sir Samara, serving under the Argent Dawn. We have a base camp a short ways from here."

I leaned forward, the pain in my body wracking me with every motion. "I don't mean to impose but… would it be alright if I…"

Rimewind placed her hand on my shoulder, "Ignatius' wounds are still severe, he requires a safe place to rest."

"Yes, yes of course," she said, lifting me by the arm.

My chest felt like it was on fire as Samara wrapped my arm around her neck, which being a Draenei, was rather high up. Even with her stooping I was nearly lifted off my foot while trying to stand. Gradually the three of us made our way south towards the road. As we were walking the paladin's eyes kept shifting towards the Death Knight.

Eventually her curiosity became too much, "I'm sorry but you are going to have to explain your choice of companions before we reach the camp."

"I can speak for myself," Rimewind replied.

"So speak, Death Knight."

Taking her helmet off the Death Knight strode beside her. The pink locks of her hair were matted from the dingy water making her appear if anything a bit silly. "My name is Rimewind, I served with Jack Radical in the Northrend campaign over twenty years ago."

Samara looked thoughtful for a moment, "Okay, but why do you seek him out now?"

"When we broke paths I swore my blade to his cause," she said. "His recent disappearance has, as you might put it, brought me out of retirement."

"Disappearance? What are you talking about?"

"We were told he was going to the Cathedral in Stormwind two months ago," I answered. "But we haven't heard from either him or the Order since he left."

The paladin gave me a concerned look, "That's funny, he told me he was going to Feralas."

I let out a chuckle. Father would never go to Night Elf lands willingly, even if he was being hunted, and especially not to the ends of Azeroth that Feralas was. "Well, we do think he's being followed," I replied. "It could be he said that to cover his tracks in case anyone was on his trail."

"More likely he told your mother he was going to the Cathedral so she would not worry," Rimewind added.

I hadn't considered this angle before, but my mind was too hazy for it to run through its usual routine of deciphering the possibilities, so I dismissed it. "Father has gone on dangerous missions before. Besides, why would the Cathedral stonewall her?"

"Would you reveal where your agent was if you were sending him somewhere dangerous? Or perhaps undercover? And particularly to his wife, a member of a rival Order of paladins."

Things were starting to slip into place now. "Just… what did he say he was doing in Feralas?" I asked Samara.

"He didn't. All he said was he was heading that way," she replied. "He must have a good reason though, Feralas is really far."

"Yeah, it is…"

This conversation would have continued but we were approached by a stern looking human paladin and two soldiers. Each one of them wore full plate armor, the paladin herself carrying a large hammer and shield not unlike my father's. Emblazoned on their tabards was the milk white sun of the Argent Dawn. Noticing their weapons were drawn we stopped in the middle of the road and waited for them to address us.

"Samara!" the paladin shouted, "Who is it that goes with you!?"

"This is Ignatius, mage of Theramore and Jack Radial's son!" she called back.

"And the Death Knight?"

"This is Rimewind, she's uh…" Samara looked at the undead elf beside her, "She's just Rimewind."

The paladin and her entourage approached us, steel in hand, "Tell me what you're doing with these Blood Elves."

"They… we fought the Scourge in Andorhal. The mage is terribly injured, he needs to be taken to camp!"

The paladin waved her hammer in Samara's face, "I ordered you to stay away from Andorhal at all costs! What were you doing there?"

"I did! I was on patrol and I heard fighting in the city, these two were being overwhelmed by the Scourge, I had to help!"

The human looked at me and then looked at the Death Knight. Her face told us everything that needed to be said about Samara's story but she waved us forward anyway. The two guards strode behind us, making sure we didn't fall out of line before we got back to camp. As we walked I noticed Samara beginning to sweat in spite of the cool air. Anxiety dug deep into her brows as she stared at the back of the lead paladin's head. Rimewind, like myself, seemed ambivalent about the episode we'd just witnessed and said nothing.

As we rounded the corner the Argent Dawn's camp came into view. A smattering of paladins, priests, rogues, alchemists, and soldiers of all sorts gathered around campfires or mingled in tents, the semi-permanence of the camp lending it a kind of warmth and camaraderie I'd not seen in ages. Most of them were of Alliance breed but as far as I knew the Argent Dawn didn't turn away the Horde either. Still, I expected no warm welcomes. As we were led inside the camp I immediately was approached by a human priestess, her flowing white robes out of place in such a dirty atmosphere. Her gaudy regalia spoke of her influence; this was obviously a powerful member of the clergy.

"By the Light, what happened, Pureheart!?" she exclaimed.

"MacDonnell, will you please tend to our guests?" the paladin said. "I have something I need to discuss with my initiate."

"Yes, of course," The priest bowed slightly to the paladin and waved us towards a nearby tent. I glanced at Samara, she looked like she was just handed a death sentence. Her tail firmly between her legs, literally and figuratively, she relinquished me onto the Death Knight's shoulder and followed after this Pureheart character towards the rear of the camp. Rimewind hobbled me over to a cot and laid me down, my head rushing as I put it back on the soft pillow. The priestess eyed the Death Knight cautiously as she began removing what was left of my disgusting robes, exposing my bloody, damp, mud-caked body.

"I have to get you clean before I can heal you, dear," she said, mouthing the words slowly while gesturing with her hand.

"I can speak common, miss," I replied.

"Oh! Well that makes this a bit easier." The priestess got up and started soaking a clean rag in a washbasin, "I'm High Priestess Iona MacDonnell, your name?"

"Ignatius Dawnsworn-Abrams, it is a pleasure." I gestured to the Death Knight standing by the edge of the tent, "And this is Rimewind."

The High Priestess nodded towards her, then gave me a puzzled look, "Wait, are you Jack Radical's boy?"

"Yes..."

"Fantastic!" she exclaimed, sloshing water all over my wounded body. "He was our guest here for about a week, the man never stopped talking about you and your sister."

"That sounds like father," I replied, wincing in pain as the cool water soaked my damaged skin.

"Oh my, I'm sorry!" The priestess wrung out her rag and began to clear away the top layer of gunk from my wounds. "I suppose you picked Samara up on the road then?"

The Death Knight and I looked at each other, "Something like that."

High Priestess MacDonnell frowned, "That girl breaks my heart. She means well and her faith is indestructible." She tenderly scrubbed me clean, the mud so thick she had to rinse her cloth after just a few passes. "But she has no patience."

"I noticed."

"I don't want to know what happened," she said. "Just please tell me she didn't drag you into whatever caused these frightful injuries."

"No," Rimewind spoke from behind, "The worst of it was done before we even found her."

"Thank the Light," she said, wiping my arms clean. "Or, well, you know. And thank you for seeing her returned safely."

Rimewind watched the priestess curiously, "How did you know it was _we_ who brought _her_ here?"

"Like I said, the girl is all heart. She just gets too headstrong sometimes." MacDonnell had me flip over and began scrubbing my legs and back. "This isn't the first time she's needed rescuing."

"Well, she wasn't the only one," I said.

The High Priestess smiled knowingly. After much cleaning and scrubbing and rinsing she pulled out a soft, fresh towel and patted me dry, being careful to avoid any wounds that were still open. I looked down at my body, more than a dozen cuts and scars crisscrossed my torso and arms. Even the stitches that held my stump together were already fraying.

The priestess placed my hands at my side, "Just lay back and try to relax."

Light flowed through her hands and healing magic rolled over my body like the tide, washing away every pain and injury. I took a deep breath and my chest filled with air, no stabbing in my lungs or aching tugs at my skin. All that remained were thin, ghostly scars that ran across my already pale flesh. I looked down, amazed at how quickly so much damage was reversed. The High Priestess was indeed a talented healer.

MacDonnell turned to Rimewind, "Are you in need of healing as well?"

The Death Knight's hand flew up in response, "No, I will be fine."

"Very well," she said, standing to leave. "I have to go fetch the captain, no doubt she has some questions as to what happened between you and Samara. Can I trust you both to stay here?"

"Mm… hmm…" I replied, sinking deeply into the cot.

She gave the Death Knight a passing glance as she walked out of the tent, leaving the two of us alone. Rimewind stood beside me to look over her handiwork, "How are you feeling?"

"Sore, starving, but otherwise comfortable," I replied, my words beginning to slur from exhaustion. "But at least we found a lead on my father."

"Yes, and it appears a journey to Feralas is ahead of us."

I let out a deep sigh, wiggling around half naked on the thick wool blankets, trying to keep them from itching. "I don't know if I can make it all the way to Kalimdor, just leaving Silvermoon nearly killed me. And on one leg…"

Rimewind gave me a thin smile, "It was a treacherous path, but you weathered it just the same. I think you would have little to fear on the road to Feralas."

"But I'd slow you down, wouldn't I?"

The Death Knight's expression went blank for a moment before returning to what she tried to pass as an optimistic grin, "I still need to track your father along the path he traveled. The boat from Menethil to Theramore is the fastest way to Feralas from here."

I nodded slowly in understanding as my tired mind put what she said together. "So I should wait for you in Theramore?"

"That is what I am thinking."

"Yeah…" I said, rolling on my side. "But how am I supposed to get back? My runes are exhausted."

"I will speak with the quartermaster in camp. No doubt these Argents have reagents on hand."

Rimewind stood over me as if waiting for me to say something else but I was far too tired. My eyelids sagged shut and I fell asleep, sprawled out on top of the blankets.

Sometime in the evening I was awoken by shuffling at the entrance of the tent. High Priestess MacDonnell had returned with Sir Pureheart, though Samara was nowhere to be seen. Rimewind was outside too, and although I couldn't hear what she was saying, I caught the paladin muttering something under her breath to the two of them.

"I can answer that for you, let the mage rest," Rimewind replied.

Peeking my other eye open I watched with blurry vision as Pureheart crossed her arms. After a moment of deliberation she walked away with Rimewind in tow as the High Priestess stepped inside the tent. She carried something towards me, and though I couldn't tell what it was, it smelled delicious. Abandoning my ruse of sleep I sat up to get a better look at the food.

"I'm afraid it isn't the delicacies of Silvermoon," MacDonnell said, handing me the bowl and a spoon, "but it will fill you up."

Inside was a generous helping of stew. Large chunks of boar meat, potatoes, and carrots hung in thick gravy that smelled like it had been simmering all afternoon. I scooped up a mouthful and shoved it in my mouth, not even waiting for it to cool. The stew burned my tongue and I frantically started fanning my mouth, breathing heavily and coughing in a desperate attempt to cool the food before swallowing hard.

"Careful!" she said, smacking me on the back as I forced it down. "Light take me if I let you choke to death after all you've gone through."

Between coughing fits I took a drink of water to cool my throat before eating again, this time slowly. I savored every bite, scooping generous amounts of the gravy with my spoon.

"When was the last time you ate?" the High Priestess asked, taking a seat by the cot.

"Yesterday…" I replied, a bit of onion dribbling down my chin. "Um, sometime around lunch."

"Poor thing," she tucked my hair behind my ear, "you must be famished."

"I um, yeah," I replied, scooping more food in my mouth.

MacDonnell watched as I ate, a wistful smile on her face. The low light of the campfires outside danced around the edges of the thick tent canvas, providing the only ambient light. The High Priestess' eyes however seemed to emitting their own, the same familiar white glow I knew from my father's magic. Gently she raised one of her hands, her palm radiating a faint magic. I watched her enviously. My own magic was expended and I had to fight back the instinct to drain such an easy source of mana. My mind slogged through its thoughts now, unable to function under the effects of magical withdrawal.

Slowly the High Priestess clasped my hand around hers, a knowing look on her face. Setting my empty bowl aside I began to tap her mana, tentatively at first, but growing bolder as the magic flooded my veins. MacDonnell endured it silently. Her fortitude was far beyond my own anyway, I don't think I could have drained her completely even if I tried. Nevertheless, she took her hand away as the worst of my withdrawal faded. I pulled away myself, gasping in surprise at how much I needed it, and also slightly ashamed.

"Feeling better?" she asked.

"Yeah, um… thanks," I responded, wringing my hands and avoiding looking her in the eye.

"Is something the matter?"

Glancing up for a moment, I quickly returned my gaze to my lap, "I'm not especially proud of my addiction."

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," she replied. "You can't help you were born that way."

"I know," I said, my voice low. "Even so, drawing mana from another is a sign of intimacy among Blood Elves. Or humiliation… depending."

The High Priestess gave me a cockeyed grin as she moved closer, "Well, I don't feel humiliated, Ignatius."

Nodding, I scooted to the side to give her some space. She moved closer still, edging herself onto the cot. I began to feel uncomfortable as her hips pressed against mine. Her hand forced me back against the blankets as she leaned over me, the golden locks of her hair flowing onto the pillow beside my face.

The High Priestess' eyes were still glowing, but not just with the Light this time, "Though perhaps a bit intimate."


	5. Performance Anxiety

_**Author's Note:**_

 _ **My apologies about the late and short update. I meant to add this chapter weeks ago but wanted to wait until the site finished sorting out its technical difficulties first. In the future I will try not to leave cliffhangers hanging for very long.**_

Before I could respond to her advances, MacDonnell practically laid down on top of me. My brain tried to register what was going on as she drew me in for a light kiss, her hand running down my chest, my stomach, all the way to my waist. I'd never been kissed by a girl before let alone by a full-fledged woman like her. Frozen in shock I just laid there as she stole another, her fingers teasing around my crotch. What was I supposed to do? Is this what sex was supposed to feel like?

Sensing my tension, the High Priestess eased up a little, "Are you alright?"

I mumbled through dry lips, "W-why are you doing this?"

The High Priestess caressed the skin around my collarbone, "Rimewind told us all about your journey while you were asleep. How you lost your leg to the Scourge, how you saved Samara, everything."

I winced a little, "She did?"

"Mm hmm," she responded, kissing me again. "Now come here."

I didn't respond. Everything that happened during my journey was still processing, even I wasn't sure what all transpired. What nonsense had Rimewind been filling the Argent's heads with? Nevertheless, I didn't find myself fighting MacDonnell's advances. The High Priestess was a beautiful woman, older than I was accustomed to but radiant, especially for a human. I was never actually intimate with another before and her affection took me off guard. Were priests even allowed to act in such a way? As her voluptuous body pressed closer I felt myself begin to tremble, my nerves wracking me as much as when I was treading in the Eastern Plaguelands.

The High Priestess set to work, kissing me over and over as she stroked my bare skin. The night air was cool against my half-naked body and her fingertips seemed to light up everywhere they touched. As we made out she took my hand and placed it on her hip. Even through her thick robes I could feel her shapely body. The fine material ran down her back, across her cheeks, and along her exquisite legs. I spent a minute just getting used to feeling her body, tracing her silhouette in my mind. This didn't seem to satisfy her for long though and she pressed me into the cot, her hand working its way into my pants.

As her fingers brushed against my genitals I felt a jolt go through my body. It was so strong I wouldn't have been surprised to find goblin jumper cables clamped to my chest. MacDonnell gave me a strange look at first but settled into an amused smile, "Does that feel good?"

I didn't say anything. It felt like I was short-circuiting as I tried to make sense of my own feelings. I was a mage, I dealt in the intellect, in planning and structure. Even my fawning over Eris was calculated and precise, my sister's meddling notwithstanding. This though… it was entirely visceral. I didn't have time to take it in or plan my reactions. Tentatively I nodded to her; it was all I could think to do. Inside I was screaming for it to stop, for something to call her away so I might have a chance to come to grips with my own emotional state but no such luck.

MacDonnell removed what was left of my linen pants leaving me exposed on the cot. After giving my member a few playful strokes she began removing her own robes. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as her pristine raiment loosened. The thick, smooth cloth rolled off her shoulders like her golden hair. Her ample chest spilled out of the loose garment as she leaned over me, giving me a better look. Gripping the blanket with sweaty palms I couldn't help but stare, slowly leaning forward lest she pin me down again.

Her priestly garb slid off her body and onto the floor. Then MacDonnell took my hand in hers and placed it against one of her breasts, letting me feel her womanhood as she crept closer. My hands were trembling as I awkwardly pawed her chest. How was this supposed to work? Was there something I should be doing? The High Priestess continued to move closer until she was kneeling in my lap, her body pushing against mine. A firm hand tangled itself in my hair as she pulled me close and began kneading my crotch with her hips, her silk panties gliding effortlessly across my shaft.

Reaching my arm around her I tried to indulge myself in the moment. I felt like the proverbial dog chasing a cart: Now that I caught it I didn't know what to do with it. Burying my face in her neck I felt her do likewise, her teeth gently grazing my skin. I tried to emulate her motions, the suckling-sound of our sloppy kisses filling the tent. Her hair wafted in my face as she pulled me back and forth in time with her stroking hips. Its scent filled my head with the strong but clean musk of a human, wilder than an elves' but no less enticing.

After a couple minutes of this, MacDonnell pulled away, a look of confusion on her face. I pulled back too, unsure what was going on. Confused, she said, "Are you attracted to humans?"

I was a little taken aback by this, "What? Of course, why do you say that?"

"You don't seem to be into it. I mean, you're not even hard."

I looked down. In my anxiety my semi-flaccid member was apparently refusing these new and strange feelings. I desperately wished it would cooperate but that just seemed to make things worse. Looking back to the High Priestess I said, "It's just… different, is all. I'm not used to this kind of thing."

"Not used to what, sex?"

I nodded, my long ears scraping against the canvas behind me.

MacDonnell choked down a look of disappointment, trying instead to pass it off as a nonchalant smile, "It's okay. I'm just used to younger guys being more… enthusiastic."

Heat rushed to my face as I tried not to show my embarrassment. I didn't know what to say, what could I say? I was essentially blue-balling this poor woman with my own self-consciousness. The worst part was I really did want to give it a try, I just… couldn't.

The High Priestess' countenance changed to what looked like genuine reassurance, "We could try again if you like."

I nodded, willing to give it another shot. MacDonnell leaned gracefully over my cock, letting her luscious hair fill my lap. As she kneeled I sat upright, getting a nice view of her heart-shaped ass in the process. Slender fingers caressed my shaft, tugging the loose skin up and down. I stretched my legs out to give her room to work. The sensation of her hands on my genitals sent waves of ice down my back as though she were tugging on my spine. It felt so unnatural, I'd never been touched there by another person before, but at the same time I dared not stop her.

She took my loose sac in her palm and watched as I squirmed uncomfortably. Even though she was gentle and obviously quite experienced I found myself writhing helplessly in her grasp. Her full lips slid around my tip, licking and suckling in equal measure, coaxing a little bit of pre-cum out of my uncooperative cock. In faux appreciation I put my hand around her head and stroked the back of her neck. Inside though my stomach was in knots. Every press and prod on my balls made me feel like ice picks sticking were out of my spine. The wet lips that surrounded my cock had my toes curling in apprehension as much as pleasure. Yet I didn't say anything. The only way out was through.

Sadly however, MacDonnell didn't seem to have the patience for such a herculean task. Having made little progress after several minutes of fellatio she pulled away, frustrated and crestfallen. "I guess it's just not happening tonight," she said at last.

Awkwardly I scratched my lower back, the cold sweat and wool blanket beneath me making it that much more uncomfortable. "Umm… yeah…"

She gathered her robes and quietly put them back on as I slid beneath the covers to escape the cold and embarrassment of my own nakedness. As she stood to adjust them she said, "Don't worry about it, hon. I know you've been through a lot."

Averting my gaze I tried to give a thoughtful smile, but much like my feelings, all I could muster was an awkward, scrunched up mess. The High Priestess gave me a firm pat on the leg as she walked through the tent flaps. With that gesture I felt a little reassured, maybe this was for the best? I'd always imagined my first time being with someone I cared about, someone I loved, not a chance encounter in the middle of an army camp. As I leaned back I felt like I'd find that person eventually. It was a long way to Feralas, as Rimewind said. A lot could happen in between, and if father's rambling, boisterous stories were any indication, I might get another chance soon.

Staring up through the darkness my eyes fixed on the canvas ceiling. The steady winds that chased down the surrounding mountains flickered rays of campfire light peeking through the flaps. Ruffles and folds flowed like water, their shadowy valleys spreading across the tent in waves. It lulled me to sleep as I snuggled under the warm, coarse blanket, a stray bit of wool making my ear itch. As the fires outside were put out for the night I watched the darkness spread across the tent before closing my eyes, leaving me with a stray, nagging thought that I might be wrong.


	6. Getting a Leg Up

I laid on the couch in the common room of my dormitory, the fireplace crackling before me as the evening sun shone through the window, causing the room, in spite of its old tapestries and thick banners, to become redolent of Silvermoon City with its warm, honey glow. It'd been more than three weeks since my experience in the Plaguelands and I had almost managed to fall back into my school routine. Rimewind had not yet returned and I was beginning to become anxious. Part of me now wanted to stay here where it was safe and life was easy. The only real dangers I faced in the Mage Tower was running out of reagents or accidentally setting something on fire. On the other hand, father was still missing, mother was in hiding, and I did have an actual lead as to his last known whereabouts. That wasn't the kind of information I could ignore in good conscience. These thoughts weighed on me and I'd become moody even with my close friend, Bazzle. Of course this also did nothing to alleviate the worry that there could still be plague dormant in my veins, though as time passed that became less of a valid concern and more an annoying hypochondria.

Upon my return to Theramore there were of course many questions. Things like, "Where have you been?", "Why did you miss class?", and "What in Khadgar's name happened to your leg?" Answering these truthfully seemed to elicit nothing but sneers from my fellow students, while the professors regarded me with the strained concern one has when addressing an imbecile. Thus I found it was more prudent to lie about my undertaking with the Death Knight. I claimed that after becoming distraught over the event in the library with Eris, I ran away to collect myself, and had a nasty run in with a crocolisk in the sprawling swamps that engulf Theramore. It seemed plausible to just about everyone, certainly more so than running away to adventure with Rimewind and battling a lich. In fact the only one who doubted my claims was the illustrious Doctor Gustav Van Howzen who tended my injuries. After examining the "field surgery" done to my leg he raised an eyebrow that I could have done it myself, but decided the alternative explanation was a bit too fantastic—or concerning—to entertain.

Through the use of crutches and a wooden peg I was able to attend classes again, although I'd not seen Eris since her birthday. Frankly I was avoiding her and every outing from the dormitory had me fearing I might bump into her in some corridor. Word slowly got to me that she felt guilty over my circumstance, and while it wasn't entirely her fault, she certainly was the catalyst with her blatant racism and rejection. My own poor judgment was really to blame for my infirmity but for once I was enjoying a delicious schadenfreude that had previously belonged only to my sister, Jacqueline. It was, I am ashamed to admit, intoxicating.

A loud clunk from behind made me look over the couch. Bazzle Crimpnozzle, my gnomish friend, was plugging away at another commissioned piece I'd requested. It wasn't the usual sort of thing I'd ask for but the gnome loved any chance to play with his engineering tools and realized I was in dire straits. The hospital of Lady Proudmoore's tower was well equipped and Dorctor Van Howzen's medical oversight allowed me a quick recovery, but the loss of my leg was irreversible. My peg leg was all that could be furnished on such short notice and while the doctor expected that I would request a custom wooden foot be made, I declined. I am sure the craftsmanship would have been impeccable but I could not deny Bazzle the opportunity to use his talents.

"Are you sure you don't need any help?" I asked, calling back to the gnome. The common room was long abandoned by the other students as his engineering project spread from table to chair to floor in the matter of a week. Piles of notes and greasy tools lay scattered about in disarray, making the otherwise regal human room look like a dwarven workshop.

He turned to face me, a spanner in his oily hand and his face obscured almost entirely by the enormous purple goggles he was sporting, "It's just about finished," he replied. I could hear the clang of the gears engaging as he set the magical apparatus I'd designed in place. A few nasty-sounding clanks and pinched fingers later, and the gnome held up his finished work; my new foot.

"It'll need to be calibrated, of course," he said, carrying it over, "But the mechanisms are all in place." Bazzle set it beside me and pointed to each part of his contraption in turn, "Pitch, roll, and yaw controls, gyro-stabilization, mithril-reinforced bearings, and of course that sympathetic magical control module of yours."

I looked at the device, it was much cruder than I'd imagined when we started this project. A steel frame wrapped in bronze tubing made the basic shape of a humanoid boot while various gears and gizmos inside ticked away idly. Sticking straight through the ankle was my control module, the mana gem inside pointing out like it didn't quite fit. The hodge-podge might have looked silly but after almost a month on crutches my arms were killing me and I was dying to get some semblance of normal movement back. Carefully I slipped what remained of my stump inside the contraption and strapped it on. I felt myself attune with the mana gem inside and slowly raised my leg, rotating the awkward, heavy foot around in a circle with my mind.

"Eureka!" Bazzle cried as he watched me move it around. "Let's see you walk on it!"

I stood up, nervous to try this device out. Standing wasn't difficult, the stabilizers worked automatically as I leaned back and forth. Carefully I stepped forward, the foot landing hard on the stone floor and sending me tumbling. Bazzle immediately ran to my side as I pried my face from the masonry.

"Are you alright!?" he squeaked, helping me up.

"Yeah," I replied. "I think I need to take it a little slower."

"Dude! That was one incorrigible faceplant!"

Shaking my head, I stood up and decided to try again. Cautiously this time, I took another step. Then another, and then another, every one requiring conscious effort to maintain my balance. As I clomped around my gait became less like that of a toddler and more of a limp. Bazzle was ecstatic, dancing around me and throwing his hands in the air, the oil caking his robes dripping onto the floor with every gesture. I was excited myself, happily clomping around the common room like a construct, but in my enthusiasm I forgot to actively think about one of my steps. Instantly the mechanical foot sprang up and I found myself face down on the floor once again in one of the many small puddles of grease and oil.

"Oh dear," my gnomish friend said, rushing to help me up.

"I'm fine," I replied, sitting up to readjust the fit of the prosthetic.

"Remember Ignatius, this is just the prototype. The final version will be a bit less troublesome, we just need to work out the bugs."

I moved the foot around a bit, content that it was still fastened tightly. "You've really outdone yourself, Bazzle. I can't thank you enough for this."

"Think nothing of it, my pointy-eared brozinski!" he said, wiping his hands on his robe. "Just make sure you steer clear of the crocolisks from now on."

Leaning over my knees I looked up at the open window, "You know that isn't really what happened, right?"

He gave a shrill chuckle, "You mean that business with the Death Knight? Ignatius, how can you expect anyone to believe such far-fetched tales?"

"You can meet her if you like," I said, pulling myself to my feet. To my feet, oh it felt good to think that. "When she comes to pick me up."

"Pick you up?" he said, taking a step closer, "What do you mean? Where are you going?"

"To Feralas," I said, moving towards the window. Bazzle did not know of my family's problems so I felt no danger informing him of my true intentions. Besides, he was the only confidant I had in the entire school.

"What!?" he did a double-take. "Oh, right, your archaeology project." He turned away and began shoving his tools inside their respective cases, muttering, "You must be pretty dedicated to put up with a bunch of Night Elves."

"Yes, hopefully we won't be staying long."

"Ha! Well, I'll believe this Death Knight when I see her." Rolling up his schematics he said, "Anyway, undead companion or not, I hope you travel safely whenever you do."

"Thanks, Bazzle," I said, turning from the setting sun.

"Think nothing of it," he replied. "Anyway, when is this 'Death Knight' supposed to arrive?"

I lowered my gaze in silence. Honestly, I was expecting Rimewind to arrive weeks ago. Although I had Bazzle's project and my schoolwork to keep me occupied I could not help but feel she was never coming for me.

"Perhaps in a few days," I responded.

"Hmm, well that should give me time to work out a few kinks," he said, pointing to my new foot with a spanner. "Why don't you take it for a walk? I need to collect data for the recalibration."

I glanced outside again, the evening air was nice and the breeze coming off the ocean pleasant. It might not be a bad idea to collect my thoughts for a while. "I think I shall take you up on that," I said, carefully hoisting my wobbly self along the floor.

"Good!" He cried, shoving tools into a toolbox almost as big as he was. "Just be sure to stay out of the swamps this time."

I gave the gnome an awkward half-smile and trudged through the door. The halls were mostly empty at this hour, and as I made my way downstairs and outside, I felt the evening air beginning to turn. My new leg, once I had grown accustomed to it, proved to be fairly reliable. I just had to be sure to avoid any sudden movements and it almost passed for the real thing. As I limped along the road, my foot occasionally propping me up in the air, my mind wandered. Did I really want to leave this place? I had the sympathy of my professors now, and the other students were not bothering me nearly as much as they used to. No one wanted to be seen as the one picking on the cripple. Maybe Rimewind was never actually coming for me... and maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. I suddenly felt a bit foolish thinking she would, after all her derision in the Plaguelands, but I thought I'd proven myself in the end. And what if I did go along, and we actually found father in Feralas working on some mission for the Cathedral of Light, what would I say to him? How could I explain my infirmity, or the family's crisis in his absence?

These thoughts spun in my head as twilight began to fall, and I found myself passing by the tavern in the center of town. The usual nightly crowd was gathering by the fireside indoors, away from the chilly ocean air, while others caroused outside, nursing drinks and chatting before heading on their way. As I watched them from the road, I caught a familiar face; Eris was there, drinking with a few friends. I stopped and our eyes met from across the street. Those with her seemed to notice, although they didn't recognize me. They all just continued to stand there, drinking their warm cider and chatting away, and I felt the urge to go over. My feet remained planted though, what would I say? Perhaps I'd explain what really happened to me, or ask Eris why she'd been avoiding me these past few weeks, or just say hi. Either way, I felt compelled to say something. We couldn't keep avoiding each other forever. Just as I lifted my mechanical foot, a familiar voice shouted behind me.

"Iggy!"

That distraction, even for a moment, was all it took for my leg to kick out from under me, sending me tumbling backwards into the cobblestones.

A few of the tavern crowd burst out laughing as I lifted myself up, my hair disheveled and hanging in front of my eyes. Peeling it back I looked and found everyone staring at me, with some whispers exchanged and a few ill-concealed grins behind half-empty steins. Eris, though, was not among them. She merely averted her eyes and, without a word, slipped through the tavern door. Her friends noticed and quickly followed, still chuckling to themselves.

I let out a defeated breath as my sister, wrapped in her cloak, came up to me, "God you're jumpy, are you okay?"

"Hello, Jacqueline," I replied tersely. She held out her hand to help me up but I stood on my own, "To what do I owe this... _pleasure?_ "

"Jeez, is this how you greet everyone these days?" she said, placing her hands on her hips.

Ashamed, I looked away for a second, "I'm sorry, I've just... never mind. I'm sorry."

Jacqueline lowered her hood, her long ears popping out as her hair untucked itself neatly around her collar. She caught me in her hard, emerald stare and said, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes," I replied. "I was just distracted."

"Oh?" She looked over at the tavern, "Ah that's right, you're girlfriend!"

"She's not my girlfriend," I muttered.

"Aww Iggy..." she put her hand on my shoulder, bending over to my eye level as if to add to the condescension of her tone, "What happened? Didn't she like your present?"

"Jacqueline!"

"You know that perfume was out of season, right?"

Pushing her hand aside I glanced around nervously, the blood rushing to my ears, "Can we not talk about this in the middle of the street?"

"Fine, fine," she said, taking a step back.

I took a moment to straighten my robes before starting towards the Mage Tower. Jacqueline followed at my side, apparently unaware of my limp, or perhaps assuming it was due to me tripping on the stones. Eventually I asked, "Why are you out here anyway?"

My sister's smirk grew wider and wider, "Well, while you've been fooling around with schoolwork and mage girls, I've been a busy. You'll never guess what I found!"

My face lit up, "Another letter from mother?"

"No," she said, dismissing the notion with a wave of her hand, "I found a fresh lead on daddy!"

"Oh."

"Don't sound too excited," she said, slugging me in the shoulder. "I'm headed there now. I just figured I'd stop by and fill you in since you're stuck here, missing all the excitement. Plus you're the only one I can really tell," she cocked her head back, sending her hair fluttering, "and it's no good going through all this with no one to appreciate it."

"Uh huh... I've been busy too, and had more than my fill of 'excitement'," I said as we walked, the last rays of the sun finally disappearing over the horizon. "Personally I'm quite content to sit the rest of this adventure out."

"Oh I'm sure you have, all held up in your little closet." My sister waved her hands together as if she was sifting through a tiny bowl, "What, did you scry out another Death Knight? Maybe a demon this time?"

I stopped and glanced down at my foot, unsure if this was the best moment to spring such a surprise. It might, after all, distract her from her mission. As much as I hated her constant teasing, my sister really was the best chance we had of finding father. However, whether or not it was practical, revealing my injury would at the very least shut her up, which with Jacqueline was worth a king's ransom. Besides, she would find out sooner or later, and better I told her than her finding out on accident. Figuring it was best to get it over with, I took a deep breath and pulled my robe up just above my knee. Jacqueline jumped back with a gasp, one hand instinctively reaching for her dagger. She stared at my leg, taking it in, then her eyes quickly fixed my own.

"Iggy! What happened?!" she asked in disbelief.

I tried to find the right words but they just wouldn't come out. Would she even believe me if I told her the truth? No one else did, not even Bazzle. She didn't believe me about finding the Death Knight before either. And if she did believe me, what would she think about me wandering into the Plaguelands unprepared? I wasn't sure even she was daredevil enough to travel there.

She moved closer to me, her hands resting on my shoulders as she looked me in the eyes. There was no more bravado or smugness on her face, it was something far rarer. Something that terrified me and only emerged when something was desperately wrong; sisterly concern. "Iggy?"

"It is... a long story, Jacqueline," I said at last.

Her eyes snapped down and back up, "Your leg is... oh my god!" She started shaking me back and forth, "Tell me!"

"I will!" I said, pushing her away, "But not here, I will when we get back."

The entire way to the tower I had to continually push her away as she tried to help me along, as if I was suddenly incapable of walking by myself and only got to the middle of town by crawling on my hands and knees. This was the first time in a long while I'd seen my sister genuinely concerned for my well being, and while I'd always hoped that some familial love for me still existed inside her somewhere, its sudden emergence made me extremely uncomfortable. I was used to her mocking and dismissive attitude towards my pursuits, or bullying me into whatever crazy scheme she thought up. To now suddenly start acting like... a sister, it was too strange. Over these weeks I'd begun to grow accustomed to having only one leg, but her reaction made me realize once again just how serious my injuries were, and how lucky I was to have escaped with my life. I was forced to confront the gravity of my foolish, headstrong mistakes, and as I opened the door to the common room, I realized I'd have to tell her all about them.

Inside, Bazzle had just finished cleaning up the worst of the mess left behind by our project. A few grease stains on an old rug was the only evidence we'd even been there. As he looked up from the table where he sat, diligently organizing every spanner into his toolbox, he froze.

"Hello, Bazzle," I said, stepping into the room.

"You... you're back," he said nervously, "With your sister?"

"Hi," she distantly said, hoisting me onto the couch by the fire.

I put my new foot up on an ottoman and pulled the straps away from my stump. Jacqueline looked mortified as I removed the prosthetic from my leg, revealing the damage Rimewind had inflicted. Bazzle walked over and sat the mechanical leg upright, examining the gyros and gears inside, "So how did it go out there? Any problems?"

"Mechanically it appears to be sound," I replied, "There were a few malfunctions when I wasn't paying attention though."

"Yeah, I can see some of these springs are out of spec," he said poking one of them with a pocket screwdriver. "And I'm going to need to realign the vertical stabilizer. I bet you were bobbing up and down like a fishing lure."

My sister stood behind the gnome, towering over him with crossed arms, "You wouldn't happen to know what happened to my brother, would you, Bazzle?"

"M-me!?" he squeaked, "positively not, man! I mean, just what Ignatius told me! I'm just helping him get back on his feet!"

"Bazzle, could you please give us some time alone?" I said, resting what was left of my bad leg on the couch. "I haven't yet told Jacqueline what happened to me."

"Yeah, yeah of course, dude!" he said, taking the leg in his arms as he shuffled towards his room.

Jacqueline caught him as he began to scurry off, "Not so fast, Squeaky, you're in on this too."

"Ack!" he gasped, stopping in mid-stride as she tugged on his collar.

"Now then," she said, practically throwing the gnome onto the couch, "what happened?"

Bazzle looked at me with begging eyes but I shook my head, still unable to find the right way to begin the tale. Every time I brought up anything I had accomplished, my sister regarded it with incredulity. Tentatively I said, "Jacqueline... I want to tell you but what's the point? You've believed nothing I have told you since this misadventure started."

"You could start at the beginning."

Crossing my arms I said, "Alright, do you remember the Death Knight I found in Silvermoon?"

She rolled her eyes, "Oh my god, not this again." My sister looked at me with utter annoyance, then fixed her eyes on the gnome. "What's the real story?"

"He uh, I think he... mighta lost it... in the swamp..." Bazzle said, unable to meet her gaze.

"In the swamp? Iggy-"

"Ignatius!" I yelled.

"-what were you doing out there!? You know it's dangerous!" she continued.

"I wasn't in the swamp at all!"

She looked at Bazzle who once again withered into the couch cushion, "Man, I'm sorry but your Death Knight story is bogus, dude."

I threw my arms in the air, helpless to move both myself or their opinions. "Fine then. Everyone here thinks a crocolisk bit my leg off. You happy?"

"Iggy, what in the Light's name were you doing out in that swamp!?" Jacqueline shouted.

"I was running away," I said, frustration seething in my tone. She cocked her head as if she didn't understand. "That present you stole, I gave it to Eris for her birthday."

"Okay?" she replied.

"She hated it, and she hated me, and her friend hated me, all because of my cursed human blood."

"Watch your tongue!" she said, moving closer as if to smack me, "That's daddy's lineage you're talking about."

"It's true!" I insisted, staring her down from my seat on the couch. "She called me a half-breed and a mule, and told me to go back to Undercity, right in the middle of the library."

Jacqueline stopped herself as her brow furrowed. Looking to Bazzle she asked, "Did she really?"

The gnome nodded sadly, "Yeah, it's not the first time someone's said those things either."

My sister let out a deep breath, shaking her head slightly at the thought, "I'm... sorry Iggy. I had no idea."

"Sure," I said dismissively.

Taking a seat next to me on the couch, she leaned forward to meet my eyes, "I take it that's why you ran away, huh?"

"Partly," I replied. Looking away I added, "And partly from what you said to me earlier, about me not being ready for that kind of an adventure. I thought, if I could make it out there, it would prove I am not just some hapless dullard to be picked on while milling about an academy."

She put her hand on my shoulder, "Iggy, you have nothing to prove to me."

"Evidently I have a lot to prove to you if you will not even believe my story."

"Fine then," she said, putting her hands in her lap, "how did you really lose your leg?"

I looked over at Bazzle who just shrugged. "I met the Death Knight, Fyodora Rhymewind, in Eversong Forest. We traveled south together, had a run-in with the Scourge, and my leg was bitten by a plague ghoul. Fyodora had to cut it off to save me from becoming infected."

Jacqueline's eyes appeared to be glazed over so I stopped my tale there. Slowly she turned to the gnome sitting beside her, "And what does everyone else think happened?"

The gnome shuffled away from her and said, "After that completely not-groovy incident in the library, he ran off into the swamp and got it bitten off by a crocolisk."

"Look, believe what you want," I said, exasperated by this point, "in either case, my leg is gone now, and Bazzle's been helping to build me a new one."

"Speaking of which, my long-eared compadres," he said, holding up the prosthetic leg, "I should really attend to those adjustments."

"Alright," Jacqueline said. Bazzle immediately jumped off the couch and headed towards his room, but my sister stopped him once more, "Bazzle, thank you for doing this for my brother."

"Oh, uh, yeah, no problem!" he said, still backing towards his room.

Once my friend had left us, Jacqueline let out a deep breath, "Well, I can't really blame you for being upset," she said. "I'm sorry about what I said, Iggy, I didn't realize what you went through here." Her visage soured in the firelight, "I never thought something like this would happen to you."

"It's Ignatius and neither did I."

"I feel like a damn fool for goading you into this, now..." she stared at my stump of a leg, "Damn crocolisk."

"That's not what happened," I said, tucking my stump under me on the couch. I craned my neck to make sure no one was in earshot and said, "I can prove my side of the story."

"Oh?" my sister said, curling her lip in a grin, "How's that?"

"I know what your lead on father is."

One of my sister's eyebrows rose in curiosity.

"That he's in Feralas."

She gave me an intense look, "How did you know that?" 

Crossing my arms in satisfaction I said, "While I was with Rimewind we encountered a camp of the Argent Dawn. Father apparently stayed with them at some point and told them where he was headed."

Jacqueline laughed, "You expect me to believe you made it from Eversong to the Argent Dawn? By trekking through the Plaguelands?"

"Well, I was carried for a good portion of it."

"Iggy," she said, patting me on the head, "You're clever, I'll give you that. But you're never going to be a good liar."

With a sigh I said, "Believe what you want." I shifted towards the edge of the couch, "It's getting late, would you mind helping me into my room?"

"Of course," she said, putting my arm around her shoulder.

She pulled me off the couch and hobbled me towards my door at the far end of the common room. Inside was a catastrophe of notes and schematics relating to the project Bazzle and I were working on, mixed in with stacks of school notes, some my own, and some carefully scribed by students willing to take notes for me while I was recuperating. Jacqueline set me on my bed and looked out the window to the distant sea.

"Will you be leaving tonight?" I asked, pulling my one boot off.

"No, I'll set out in the morning," she replied. "It's not worth traveling through the swamp alone at night. I'm not an orc."

I nodded, sprawling out on my mattress, "Do you think you'll find father in Feralas?"

"No idea," she said, "That's what makes it an adventure, Iggy, you never know what you're going to find."

Shutting my eyes, I stretched long and hard, my back stiffening from falling on the stones, "Good luck, Jacqueline. I almost wish I could go with you for once."

There was no reply. I opened my eyes to find her gone, the window open, and the familiar sea breeze wafting through my room, disheveling the occasional paper. Sitting up in bed, I leaned on the windowsill and looked around. As usual there was no trace of her. My eyes felt heavy as I rested my head on my arms, gazing over the horizon. Rimewind was never coming for me, and Jacqueline would never believe my story. She even found a lead on father all on her own, though I suppose that was to be expected. It was as good as if I'd never left at all. No, that isn't true, I thought. That Draenei is still alive because of me.

I pulled myself away from the window. That Draenei was still alive, the paladin we found in Andorhal. Rimewind was ready to leave her to her fate. She would be dead, or worse, corrupted if I hadn't been there too. I felt my face scrunch in confusion as I laid back into my pillow. She would have been dead if I wasn't there, or wasn't quick enough to find her, or wasn't suicidal enough to distract that Lich long enough for Rimewind to rescue her. My stomach felt a little queasy and I wondered if this was how father felt during those missions he loved to regale. Only one step away from tragedy. Still, I couldn't deny that my presence did make a difference. As the cool air rolled over me, I tugged on my blanket. Maybe it was worth going along after all.


End file.
